


Angel of the Revolution

by sinnerman



Series: Winds of Change [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-07
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnerman/pseuds/sinnerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How can you change the world if you know nothing about it?  The story of a man who wanted to do what was right, no matter the cost to himself - and the man who learned to love him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get up, you who are branded by a curse

Anders drew his knees up to his chest as tightly as he could, and pressed his hands against his ears, trying to block out the sounds.  This should have been a safe place to hide.  No one ever came into this room, normally.  It was quiet and dark, the perfect place to sit and think.

Try as he might, he couldn't quite keep out the sounds.  The clank of armor as the bodies shifted.  The muffled cries of pain.  The constant commands for silence.  The Templar's voice, threatening and low: "Open up, and let me do this."

They hadn't seen him.  Anders had heard the Templar walking nearby, and he had hidden behind a box of books waiting to be unpacked.  He hadn't realized that the Templar had planned to enter the room, or that he was pulling someone behind him.  He hadn't realized what was going to happen until he heard the sounds of armor falling to the floor.  Robes torn away.  A single low word of protest, cut short by the Templar's vicious command.  Then the mage had said nothing more, and there were only the sounds that Anders was trying his best not to hear.  He wasn't even sure if it was a man or a woman; a human or an elf.  Just that it was a mage, giving up something precious to a Templar who probably didn't care whether they were a man or a woman or a human or an elf.  Just that they were a mage, and that the Templar could take whatever he wanted.

Anders buried his face in his knees, pressing his hands even tighter over his ears, until all he could hear was his own blood rushing through his body.  He should have said something.  He should have interfered.  Maybe that would have given the other time to get away.  The thought of someone else's pain – it was killing him by inches to know that he had done nothing to stop it, and that he would never be able to make it right.

He felt rather than heard the door slam, and finally pulled his hands away.  He couldn't hear anyone else breathing.  However, knowing the predilections of the Templars, he sat still a little while longer, to make sure they were really gone.  Anders wiped his sleeve over his face, not surprised to find that he had been silently crying with shame and terror.  He sank back into the corner, trying to get his emotions under control again before trying to leave the room.  He didn't want to be seen like this.

He heard someone calling his name.  One of his instructors.  Then, another voice, kinder and older.

"Oh, just call him Anders like everyone else does.  Anders!  Where are you hiding?"

Anders scrambled to his feet and ran to the door.  Wynne had already walked past, and he stepped out of the room, letting the door close before he touched her shoulder.

"Oh, there you are," smiled Wynne.  "You skipped class, young man," she shook an admonishing finger at him.  "But no matter, I have a more important task for you.  Come, there's been a fall of stone on the road, and they need our help to save as many people as possible."  Wynne looked critically at the young man, one of her favorite students.  "Are you all right, Anders?"

"It's nothing," he said quickly.  "I'm ready to go."

 

They dragged him back, almost literally.  He didn't resist, he just went limp like a petulant cat, forcing them to carry him back to the tower, where they unceremoniously dumped him on the floor in front of the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander.

"Where did you find him?" asked the First Enchanter.  He sounded more annoyed than anything.

"He was in the bookstore, sir.  Reading a romance," added the Templar somewhat unnecessarily.

The First Enchanter sighed.  "You are a spoiled brat, Anders."

"You think your healing abilities give you special privileges, boy?" snarled the Knight-Commander.  "You are subject to the same rules as every other mage in this tower.  If you leave without permission one more time – "

"Don't threaten him," said Wynne sharply, standing behind the Templars.

Anders stared at the bare floor of the First Enchanter's office.  He didn't want to be special.  He didn't want the Templars to treat him like a treasured pet.  He didn't want his teachers to watch his every move.  He knew what he did want, but it was impossible.

He wanted to be normal.

He listened quietly as they argued, and mumbled an apology before he was escorted back to his room.  A Tranquil servant was bolting the bed to the floor, so that he couldn't use it to reach the window ledge again.  Anders sighed miserably, and the Tranquil looked at him with a total lack of curiosity.

"I am done with my task," said the Tranquil flatly.

Anders thanked her, even though he knew she wouldn't acknowledge it, and she left the room.  He threw himself down on the bed, and pulled out the book he had taken from the store.  It was a sappy, ridiculous romance filled with improbable situations and vapidly innocent love.  The idea that someone would give up everything for love was just sheer nonsense.  Anders smiled idly to himself as he flipped through the pages, reading how the strong, brave hero risked everything to save his sweet, fragile love, and they all lived happily ever after, sealing their eternal love with a kiss.

Anders flung the book out the window as soon as he had read the last word.  There was no such thing as love.  Not for mages anyway.  Especially not for him.  He didn't even get to share a room with anyone, lest he lose his precious ability to reach the good spirits of the Fade.  All he'd ever had were a few frantic stolen moments.  Clumsy kisses, silent fucking, all done where the Templars wouldn't see and they could hope that no one would interrupt.

"Lights out," said the Templar on duty in his hall.

Anders sighed.  He was too tired to fight any more tonight.  He put out the lights, and got ready for bed by the light of the fire.  He idly wondered what it would be like to make love in a real bed as he drifted off to sleep.

"It is wonderful," said the eerie voice of a spirit of hope.  "You must not stop believing, bright one."

"Why do you call me that?  I'm not bright – not by any meaning of the word."

"But you are," insisted the spirit of hope.  "You are filled with the promise of change, bright one.  You shine with it, even if you cannot see it.  You call to us, and we are drawn to you.  We can see what might be every time we gaze upon you.  The demons would destroy that.  They do not seek change.  We can seek nothing else."  The spirit touched him gently, infusing him with hope and courage.  "We wish nothing of you, bright one.  Merely to be in your presence as you find your path."

 

"What are you doing?" said a voice right behind him, and Anders jumped, nearly dropping the things he had worked so hard to collect.

"Nothing," he said quickly.  "Just – getting a midnight snack, that's all."  He turned around, and nearly dropped everything he was holding again.  It was Roderic, of course.  The tall, dark, handsome Orlesian Templar.  The only Templar who was ever bothered to be kind to the mages under his protection – but only so that he could seduce all the women into his bed.  At least, Anders thought bitterly to himself, they went willingly.

"A snack?" drawled Roderic.  He looked down at the items that Anders was holding.  A bit of stale bread, a jug of cream, and a leftover side of fish from dinner.  "An interesting meal."

Anders blushed.  "May I go?"

"One moment," smiled Roderic indulgently, as if talking to a spoiled child.  "You know Celie, yes?  She has been ill lately, with a strange disease.  She is itchy all over, and sneezes constantly.  She cannot believe it; she has not had this problem since she was a child in her father's house, with all the cats and dogs that he kept there."

Anders made a little face, but didn't meet his eyes.

"Some others have come down with the same reaction.  They are going to search the stables to see if perhaps a cat has appeared there.  I hope they will not search the tower, but," he shrugged in that expressive and uniquely Orlesian way, "who knows?  Still, it would be a pity, would it not?  To have a pet seized in such a way?"

"Well," said Anders reluctantly, "what does that have to do with me?  It's not like I could do anything about it anyway."

Roderic smiled, and Anders looked away, wishing his heart wouldn't flutter like that.  "Well, I have a cousin that could give a good home to a pampered kitten.  It would be better so than to let it drown, yes?"

"I suppose," said Anders quietly.  "May I go now?"

"Ah, but of course," Roderic moved so that Anders could pass.  "I hope your evening repast is delicious!  And Anders – stop breaking curfew."

Anders ran back to his room without answering, and locked the door before letting the kitten out of her basket.  She mewed sweetly, rubbing her tiny head against his ankles while he poured the milk into a bowl, over crumbled bits of bread.  He knelt down to pet the kitten, a perfect little tabby with a wide head and silvery-green eyes, and set the bowl before her.  She lapped at it eagerly, gnawing on the soaked bits of bread for amusement as she waited for Anders to feed her some fish.  He smiled in delight as the kitten licked his fingers clean, then attacked the fish with mock ferocity.  Finally she decided she wasn't interested in the food anymore, and jumped on the bed with a graceful spring, curling up in the center of the bed.  Anders put the bowl away for later, and threw the rest of the fish out the window, so it would fall into the lake, and then curled up in bed with his kitten.

He pretended to be just waking up when they knocked.  He knew Templars.  He knew their word games.  He understood that Roderic had given him both a warning and a threat.  "What is it?" he asked drowsily, and opened the door, yawning and still in his nightshirt.  "I'm here, I haven't run off."

"We're searching for a cat," snapped the Knight-Captain.

"Why?" said Anders blearily.

"Just move," she pushed him aside, and walked into the room.  "Someone in the tower has one of the accursed things as a pet."

"Really?  Is that allowed?  I'd love to have a kitten!" exclaimed Anders innocently.  He could hear someone in the hallway choke back a laugh.

"It is not allowed," said the Knight-Captain sharply.  "If I find any sign of a cat in here, you will be severely punished."

"Do you consider drawings to be signs?  Because I have doodles – "

"Get out!" yelled the Knight-Captain.  "Just get out and let me search!"

Anders took his clothes from the wardrobe with a sigh, and retreated to the hallway to wait for her to finish.  Senior Enchanter Uldred was outside, holding a handkerchief to his nose and dabbing occasionally at his swollen eyes.

"Did you find it?" demanded Uldred.

"No," snapped the Knight-Captain.

"It's around here somewhere," Uldred insisted, before breaking into a round of sneezing.  "Maker, when I find that cat, I'm going to wring its neck with my own hands!"

"You look terrible, Senior Enchanter.  Should you really be out of bed?  Is there anything that a healer could do to help?" offered Anders.

"No!"  Uldred glared at him.  "You could help us find that blighted cat, if you really want to help."

Anders shrugged, and one of the Templars made a noise that might have been a giggle, but turned it into a sneeze.  "Is everyone here suffering?" asked Anders in his most innocent, compassionate voice.

The Knight-Captain stepped out of his room.  "I apologize for the mess.  There's nothing here, Uldred.  Let's move on."

Anders stepped back into his room and got dressed, humming to himself and taking his time.  He almost felt guilty in the face of Uldred's misery, but the Senior Enchanter's threat to his beloved kitten wiped the guilt away.  He pulled out his books, and pretended to read while he waited.

Someone knocked at the door again.

"Come in," he called without looking up from his books.  "So, wait, I need yew?  Or bay?  This thing is so confusing.  Who is it?" he asked as he finally turned to the door.

"I lost a strap," said the Knight-Captain.  "Have you seen it?"

"Uh – " Anders looked around the room.

"Ah, there it is," she knelt down and picked up the leather strap from where it had fallen.  "You haven't heard any meowing, have you?"

Anders shook his head.  "No, I don't think I have.  Not over Uldred's honking, anyway."

The Knight-Captain forced herself not to smile, and left the room again.

Anders counted to ten, then collected his books and went upstairs to the Senior Mage quarters.  No one noticed him slip into Uldred's room, or that he had what looked like a few more books in his bag when he came out.  Anders walked down to the stables, and looked around.

"Good morning," said Roderic cheerfully.  "Do you have permission to be out here?"

"I'm just getting some fresh air," said Anders quickly.  Roderic was saddling his horse, and looked like he was getting ready for travel.  "Are you going somewhere?"

"Denerim, to visit my cousin."

"Oh."  Anders had hoped for a few more days, but he knew what he had to do.  "Here," he handed over a grimoire-shaped basket that he had carefully stashed in the bottom of his bag.  "Take her."

Roderic nearly burst out laughing at the clever hiding place that Anders had constructed for the kitten.  He shook his head, and quickly hid the incriminating false grimoire into his saddlebag.  "Go back inside before you get into trouble," Roderic commanded as he prepared to mount.

Anders nodded, and turned to leave.

"What's her name?" asked Roderic curiously.

"Hope."

 

"The First Enchanter looks rather more harried than usual," observed Roderic.  "What were you talking about in the case review session?"

"Our favorite runaway, of course," sighed the Knight-Captain.  "The Mother Superior made a suggestion on how to keep him in one place, and Irving got a little upset.  Said it was emotional cruelty, of all things."

"What did she suggest?"

"Chains.  Not real ones," she laughed at the look on Roderic's face.  "She suggested getting him entangled with someone who wouldn't run away from the Circle."

"Oh, those kinds of chains," Roderic grinned.  "Did she have anyone in mind?"

"No, but I suggested you."

"You what?"  Roderic stared at the Knight-Captain.  "I do not sleep with men."

"What if a commandery was at stake?  Say, a training hall in Orlais?"

"Orlais?" gasped Roderic.  "They would truly - "

"Think about it," smiled the Knight-Captain.  "A Spirit Healer at a training hall would attract the best kind of trainees and aspirants."

Roderic looked down at his drink, lost in thought.

Anders felt a horrible coldness in his chest, but didn't let it stop him.  He quickly slid into the cellar while the two Templars were facing the other way.  From there, he ran to the delivery entrance and climbed out while the carts were blocking the view of the Templars guarding the gate.  He slipped past the farmers, and hid himself in the crowd of peasants bringing their wares to the tower.  As soon as the first group of sellers finished their vending, Anders joined them as they walked away.  Slouching as he walked, dressed in a stolen smock, with dirt on his face and hands and a mostly empty burlap sack slung over his shoulder, he was indistinguishable from the real peasants.

He managed to avoid speaking to anyone until they had crossed the river, and he trudged past the tavern down to the main road with little more than a few grunts of greeting, refusing an offer of drinks with a shake of his head.  He walked along, head down, until he passed the first few huts, then turned down an almost abandoned path to an uninhabited little hut that he had first noticed last winter.  He had checked again a few days ago from the top of the tower, and knew that no one lived there.

Anders entered the hut, and curled up for a nap with his bag as a pillow.  He still felt sick at the thought that Roderic had been tempted - and why.  Anders wondered how he would have felt if he had never overheard the conversation, what he would have done if Roderic had suddenly come to him and asked him to go to Orlais.  He wanted to cry, but then he would have streaks on his face, ruining his disguise.  He needed to hide for a day or two at least, then move behind the wave of searching Templars.  He really didn't want to be caught this time.


	2. You, the world's starving and enslaved!

"Are you awake?"

Anders rolled over lazily, and rested his head on Kerry's arm.  "That depends on what you want me awake for."

Kerry laughed, and slid his hand down Anders' body while he moved so that he could give Anders a kiss.

"For that, I'm awake," grinned Anders, moving his legs so that Kerry could work his fingers into that soft spot, where he was still wet and relaxed from earlier that night.  He still couldn't get over how well he slept these days, even on the flimsiest mattresses in the filthiest taverns.  Just knowing that he would wake up free, that no one was spying on his every move, that his lovers were people who wanted him and not just a distraction.

He pulled Kerry close, running his hands through his new lover's flame-red hair.  They had met a few days ago, and had banded together when they realized they were both on the run.  Kerry was from Starkhaven's Circle, and had fled rather than become Tranquil.  He hadn't told Kerry what he was; just that he had fled from the Circle here.  It hadn't taken him long to succumb to Kerry's open admiration.

"Maker's breath, I love kissing you like this," whispered Kerry, locking his lips with Anders at the same time that he slid into him, making Anders moan wildly into the kiss.  They moved together as if they had known each other's bodies for years, passionate and welcoming.  Anders lay back, so he could take in the lines of Kerry's handsome face and slightly slanted dark eyes.  With a pleased smile, Kerry took advantage of the new position to drive himself more forcefully into his lover's body, making Anders gasp in pleasure.  "That's it, beautiful, tell me how this feels."

Anders laughed in joy.  "I'm no good at talking dirty, Kerry."

"Practice."  Kerry tossed his hair back, moved so that he was leaning on his arms and could watch Anders blushing.  "Come on," he said encouragingly.  "I know you liked having sex with Minda.  Do you like this better than fucking her?  Just tell me."

Anders groaned as Kerry matched his motions to his words, sinking his cock all the way inside Anders, rolling his hips so that the head of his cock massaged that tender spot deep inside.  Anders rocked back and forth on Kerry's cock, hungry for more.  "I love this," he gasped, and was rewarded by Kerry's cock drawing all the way out, then sliding back into him.

"Better than being with a woman?  Or about the same?"

Anders shook his head.  "Women are just fun.  I would much rather be with a man," said Anders hungrily.  "I love being taken like this."

Kerry moved so that he could whisper in his ear, and give Anders a quick kiss.  "Fucked," he corrected.  "That's the word for what you like."  He laughed in delight as Anders blushed again.  Kerry lifted one of Anders' legs so that he could move faster, in and out of the young mage's body.  "Say it," he pleaded.

"I love being fucked," whispered Anders nervously, and Kerry kissed him wildly.

"You want me to fuck you?" Kerry asked, panting with hunger and need, pausing in his motions while he waited for his answer.

"Yes, Kerry, please fuck me," Anders begged, and Kerry obeyed him, rising to his knees, and drawing Anders' hips to him so he could better control the speed and depth of penetration, until Anders was writhing on his cock and gasping in wild passion, stroking himself as quickly as he could while Kerry pounded in and out of his body.  With a soft, barely coherent noise that Kerry knew was his name, Anders came, spewing thick, white fluid that covered his chest as Kerry continued driving into him.

After Anders finished, Kerry let himself go, thrusting wildly until his cock twitched, filling Anders with the proof of his desire.  He pulled out, and bent down to lick away the salty fluid on Anders' chest before returning to the sweet and strangely innocent lips.  "I think I might fall in love with you, if we stay together too long."

Anders looked up at him in surprise, and smiled slowly.  "I think I would like that."  They kissed once more, then Anders put his arms around Kerry, and they lay down to sleep again.

Kerry woke the next morning, to find Anders busily patching his robes.  Kerry's robes were already done, and neatly folded on the bed next to him.  "Thanks," Kerry grinned.  "What are you putting on your robes?"

"Oh, I'm just covering the shoulders with some extra stuff from that jacket we found.  There are so many holes," Anders explained.

"You'll look very strange."

"I'll look fierce," Anders mockingly insisted, holding out his hands as if he was a cat, and hissing the way angry kittens do.

Kerry chuckled, and sat up to give him a quick kiss.  "I'm going to wash and get dressed."  He picked up his robes and stepped into the tiny washroom.

Anders hummed happily as he finished sewing his robe.  He held it up and looked at it critically.  "It still needs something."

"It needs to be on the floor next to the bed," whispered Kerry in his ear.

Anders smiled at him.  "We need to get some food before we die from starvation."

"Or exhaustion."

Anders blushed again, making Kerry laugh, and they gathered their bags and staves to leave the little hovel of a tavern.  They were on the outskirts of Denerim, where most people were too miserable to bother worrying about the occasional staff-wielding person in robes that passed through the village.  Anders had learned a lot about hiding in the last few years.  He'd learned that the stories of a Mage Underground were real, and he'd learned some of the basic signs.  He'd learned that walking past people was the best way to hide, that no one really wanted to anger a mage and that no one really wanted to have the Templars come and raze an entire tavern to capture one stray mage.  Outside of town?  That was a different story.

"There's a sign from the Collective," noted Anders as they walked through the village.

"Let me check."  Kerry walked over to a fruit stall, carefully pretending to examine the underripe peaches while he read the secret sign on the wall behind the vendor.

Anders looked idly at some random junk that a vendor was selling while he waited.  Kerry was supposed to be teaching him the secret signs, but they hadn't gotten very far yet.  He heard a soft mewing, and looked up.  Who would have a kitten here, he wondered.  He looked around, and met a pair of dark eyes that he hadn't seen in years.  Anders stepped back in shock, and watched in disbelief as Roderic pushed back his hood, still staring at Anders with a strange smile.  He almost missed Roderic signaling to someone, but saw the movement of his hands just in time.  "Kerry!  Look out!"

Kerry and the stall vendor, a servant of the Collective, moved at the same time, trained by years of experience, and the Templar's swing only destroyed the stall.  The vendor barely had to grab her staff before another Templar attacked, and she responded with a fireball that leveled two other nearby stalls.

Anders grabbed Kerry's arm.  "Let's get out of here!"  Pulling Kerry with him, he ran out of the market square into the alleys that led to Denerim proper.

Kerry hissed in fury as they saw the glint of armor at the end of the alley.  "Dammit!  If I ever find out who sold us to the Templars – "

Anders quickly looked around for another way out.  "If we double back and take the Chantry alley, we might be able to make it to the docks."

Another Templar had joined the first, and they started approaching the two mages.

"No," snapped Kerry.  "I'm tired of running.  I'm going to show them what magic can really do!"

Anders looked at him in surprise, then horror as Kerry drew a knife.  "What are you doing?  No, stop it!  Don't!"

Kerry drove the knife into his forearm, then ripped it out for a vicious, bloody wound.  Anders could feel the darkness, like the aura that surrounded the Black City in the Fade.  The blood didn't fall to the ground; instead it rose up, dancing around Kerry as if being blown by some invisible wind.  Anders didn't wait to see any more.  He turned and ran, blind with terror at what Kerry was becoming.  He had kissed those lips.  He had let those hands touch him.  He wished for death at that moment, but feared that the Maker wouldn't take him, tainted as he was.

At the end of the alley was another Templar, and Anders almost welcomed the blow that knocked him to the ground.  He lay there, stunned and quiet for a moment, then decided that he didn't really want to die.  "Please – " he stammered, holding out his hands to show that he wasn't resisting.  "I didn't know, I swear it – " he tried to explain.  The Templar drew his sword anyway, and Anders frantically wondered what to do now.  "Please!"

"Hold."  It was Roderic's voice, rich with the tone of command, stern and cold.  The Templar stayed his hand as Roderic walked up, carefully watching Anders, waiting for an explanation.

"I didn't know," Anders repeated desperately.  "I had no idea, I swear it.  We only met a few days ago.  Please."  Anders let his hands fall, as he realized that he was crying.  "Please believe me.  I would never – " he shook his head, trying to make them understand.  "I couldn't do that."

"Get up," said Roderic coldly.

"Lieutenant," protested the Templar.

"Your friend wounded two of my best men," said Roderic bitterly, ignoring the other Templar.  "Come on," he pulled Anders to his feet, and led him to where the remains of what Kerry had become were scattered in a gory mess.  Two Templars lay groaning in a pool of slime and their own entrails.

Anders saw that one was about to die.  He knelt down and concentrated.  For some reason, it came easier now than it had for some time.  Was it the familiarity of this pose, of being back on his invisible leash?  Or was it that same old desire that had never quite died?  Whatever it was, the power flowed through him, knitting bones and restoring flesh.  The Templar sat up in amazement, spitting out the excess blood.

"A Spirit Healer?"

Ignoring them, Anders turned to the second Templar, a woman.  Her lungs were intact, at least, and there was less to do for her.  He felt her return to consciousness, and drew away as she staggered to her feet with the help of her companions.

"Give me your hands," Roderic commanded, and Anders held them out obediently.  Roderic tied the rope firmly around his wrists, but not too tightly.  "Let's go.  We'll spend the night in Denerim, then go back to the tower."

The Templars nodded gratefully, and followed their lieutenant and his precious capture back to the Chantry.

Roderic didn't speak to him as they walked out of the village to Denerim.  The Templars silently fell into the familiar guarding order, one on each side of the mage and two behind.  Anders sighed bitterly, and didn't look at the people that they walked past.  He knew what their faces would look like, twisted by fear and disgust.  Part of him wanted to scream that he was human, a mortal, an innocent.  But how could he convince them?  He was a mage.

They walked through the square, and Anders looked around curiously.  He'd never been in Denerim during the day.  He watched the dwarves proclaiming the superiority of their wares, the elves running around doing various errands, the humans buying and selling.  Suddenly, there was a noise, a horrible crunching sound as a carriage tipped over into a crowd in the square.  There were screams of agony, and the frightened horses reared up, lashing out.

"Go to the horses' heads, you fools!" Roderic shouted.

Anders tried to take in the sudden chaos.  "Roderic - "

"I can't trust you, Anders."

"I swear, I won't run," he pleaded.  "You have to let me help.  We can't just walk past them."

Roderic growled, then muttered an Orlesian oath under his breath as he cut the ropes.  "Go," he ordered the Templars in his command.  "Get that carriage up."  Roderic ran to calm the horses, and Anders knelt down by a wounded child who had been crushed by one of the wheels.

Anders didn't pay attention to what was unfolding around him, just to the broken bodies lying in front of him.  Part of him knew that sisters from the Chantry where there, bringing only the most serious cases to him, bandaging the others and leading the shaken survivors away so that he could work.  He barely noticed when someone held a vial of lyrium to his lips, but drank it gratefully so that he could keep going.  Only when the vial was taken away did he realize that it had been Roderic's hands holding him up while he drank.  Anders forced himself to concentrate on what he was doing, and wouldn't allow himself to think about Roderic, or the possibilities of a pleasant captivity where he deluded himself.

"You're done," said Roderic firmly.

"No, there's one more," Anders protested.  He was shocked at how weak his voice sounded.  In the back of his mind, he could hear Wynne scolding him for pushing himself too hard.  But what else could he do, he asked himself as he bent over the last person.  It was an elderly elf who had waited patiently while the humans had forced their way to the healer.  He couldn't sit back and watch them suffer, knowing that he had the power in his hands to save them.

The elf took a deep, shuddering breath as he finally sat up, and a young elf threw herself into his arms, sobbing with joy and thanking Anders with soft whispers.

"You're welcome," he tried to say, but toppled over from sheer exhaustion.  Just as he was drifting into a weary darkness, he felt himself being lifted in a pair of strong arms and cradled securely against a plate-mail clad chest.

 

"And of course, he can't be punished," snarled the Knight-Commander.  "Irving, this is getting ridiculous."

"He's already been punished quite enough," said the First Enchanter wearily.  "He returned willingly, and he doesn't appear to have turned to blood magic."

"I saw no signs of blood magic or any other corruption," said Roderic calmly, and the other Templars agreed.

"I still can't believe he was ever with a blood mage.  I just can't think of any reason why a blood mage would take that idiot boy as a companion.  Actually," sneered Uldred, "I can think of one."

Anders flushed at the insult in the Enchanter's words, but stayed silent.

"Oh," smiled Uldred, "I was right."

"What?"  Greagoir looked at Anders.  "You and that blood mage – are you serious?"

"I didn't know he was a blood mage," Anders said wearily.  He was tired of explaining, and he hated the Tribunals.  Every recaptured mage had to submit to one.  This was his fifth time.  They were always so humiliating.  He stared at the floor so that he wouldn't have to meet anyone's eyes.  Of course, there was only one person who mattered, but he told himself he was avoiding the entire room.

Before the Knight-Commander could speak again, Irving interrupted.  "Anders, you will be secluded for at least a year.  It is necessary, for your own protection, and that of the other students here."

It was what he had expected to hear, and Anders nodded with a soft sigh.

"You should be more grateful," said Greagoir sternly.  "You should thank the Maker that you were saved in time, and brought back safely.  What would you have become of you if we hadn't found you in time?  You would still be consorting with blood mages, right now.  How long do you think you would have been able to resist?"

Anders frowned slightly.  Who should he really thank for that: the Maker or the Templar who had tracked him for years?  What had driven Roderic to follow him for so long?  Duty?  Anger?  Roderic still hadn't spoken to him.  Anders had woken up in Denerim's Chantry with Wynne standing over him, shaking her head in her most obnoxious way, and the Knight-Commander himself had taken over escorting the healers back to the tower.

"You will also need to catch up on your studies," Irving went on, carefully watching Anders as he spoke.

"Studies?"  Anders looked up at the First Enchanter.  "What do you mean?"

"I doubt that you've been keeping up with your lessons while you were away.  Before you can rejoin the others, you will have to be caught up with your class.  I've prepared a schedule for you, and while you are in seclusion, you will have lessons individually with your instructors."

Anders wondered if it was too late to choose death.  Not only was he going to be in solitary confinement until the First Enchanter decided he was 'caught up,' but he would be watched every waking hour of every day by Senior Enchanters and Templars.  He numbly took the scrip of paper that Irving held out to him.

"You'll see here that I've scheduled some remedial courses, which will be taught by Enchanter Sweeney," Irving began, "as well as some newly published material on the healing arts, which Enchanter Wynne will oversee.  There's also an herbalism text that I would like you to review with Enchanter Ines," he went on.

Anders cringed as he listened to the list of classes that the First Enchanter had created for him.  "I thought you said I'd been punished enough," mumbled Anders.

"If that is all, I think we're done here," said Greagoir harshly.  "Knight-Lieutenant Roderic, please escort the mage to his quarters under full guard, then return here for further instructions.  Two Templars will remain on duty in the seclusion area at all times."

Roderic bowed to the Tribunal, as did Anders, and he followed Roderic out of the hall.

"I thought that would never end," sighed Anders.

Roderic didn't respond, and continued leading Anders up to the seclusion rooms at the top of the tower.  He stopped, and opened the door to let Anders enter.

Anders hadn't really expected an answer, or that they would have already moved all of the things from his old room to this one.  Of course, the Tranquil servants had placed everything exactly where he had left it, just on a higher floor.  It was as if nothing had changed.  He sat down on the bed, and tried not to feel crushed and broken.  He was still alive, there was still hope.  He looked down at the list in his hand.  "How am I supposed to get to the library if I'm in purdah?"

"I'll ask the Knight-Commander about that," said Roderic.

Anders looked up at him in surprise.  "I didn't think you were talking to me."

Roderic frowned.  "I'm not supposed to be.  Anders – "  Roderic shook himself, changed what he had been going to say.  "I'm sorry I said I couldn't trust you.  I didn't mean it."

"What?"  Anders was confused for a moment, trying to remember what Roderic was talking about, and why.

Roderic closed the door without saying anything else, and Anders realized he didn't know what to believe anymore.

 

Anders handed over the papers he had written on Hanjen's alchemical research.  Uldred took it with a grunt, and skimmed over Anders' fine, neat handwriting.  "Sit, boy.  You seem to have an uncanny grasp of the more esoteric alchemies," he said with grudging respect as he regarded Anders' work.

Anders sat down, and waited for Uldred to finish reading.

The Senior Enchanter suddenly looked up.  "You're so offensively patient, boy."  Uldred put the papers down.  "It makes me positively ill.  But," he mused, "I suppose that's part of your success, isn't it?  You sit and watch, and make your escape at the perfect time.  Tell me, boy, when you were outside running around free, what did you learn?  What did you talk about with your blood mage lover?"

Anders flushed.  "I didn't know he was a blood mage!  We didn't talk about magic.  I'm nineteen!  Mostly, we talked about drinking and sex.  Sometimes about horses and sailing.  But mostly sex."

Uldred laughed, and it made him seem more human and approachable than he usually was.  "Of course, I forget how innocent you really are.  It must have been something, to be free of the Templars for a little while.  And you never talked about how to be free of them forever?"

"It was enough to wake up free," said Anders quietly.  "I didn't want to seem greedy and ask for anything more."

Uldred nodded in understanding.  "I ran once.  They didn't catch me for," the older man looked up at the ceiling, calling up a memory from the distant past, "just over six years."

"That's a long time," said Anders in surprise.

"I was brought here as a child, unlike you," smiled Uldred.  "The Circle had been my whole life until that point.  When I ran, I was determined never to be caught, and swore to myself that I would fight to the death rather than return."  Uldred shrugged.  "And yet, like so many others, I cracked when faced with a Blade of Mercy, and returned in chains.  Also unlike you," he smiled wryly, "I was not given special treatment because of my abilities."

Anders looked down at his hands.  "What do they do?  To the ones who aren't Spirit Healers, I mean?"

Uldred shook his head.  "No, boy.  That would defeat the purpose if I told you.  Spirit Healers need that shiny aura of innocence to keep you from becoming susceptible to demonic influence."

"I wish I didn't have this power," said Anders bitterly.

"Any of it?" said Uldred in surprise.  "Truly?"

"Well, no," Anders said slowly, "I wish - I wish people didn't treat me the way they do.  I'm not special, I'm mortal just like anyone else.  Why does the Chantry do this?  Why do they make it sound like we're all some kind of monstrous larva, about to burst out into abominations at any second like some sort of corrupted butterflies?"  Uldred made a face at the comparison, but didn't interrupt as Anders went on.  "Why don't they teach people that all power is dangerous, not just magic?  If normal people trusted mages, we would live up to that trust, wouldn't we?  Mages have done so much for Thedas, and it's just never enough.  Right now, we have no choice to be anything other than slaves or monsters."

"And you never even considered the path of a monster, did you?"

Anders shook his head.  "No, I don't think I could ever do that.  It would mean giving up everything that makes me - me.  It wasn't Kerry that defeated those Templars, it was a demon, using him for its own enjoyment.  There wasn't anything left of him when the demon took over."

"You watched?"

Anders nodded.  "I could feel it.  There was just darkness everywhere when he cut himself," he said, shuddering slightly at the memory.  "It was power, but it wasn't him controlling it.  That's not a price I'm willing to pay," he said, surprised by how mature his voice sounded when he said it.  "I'd rather be a slave to the Circle than give up everything inside me.  At least I can try to escape from the Circle again," he flushed with embarrassment when he realized that he was admitting to a Senior Enchanter that he still planned on running away, but Uldred did nothing more than raise an eyebrow.  "Anyway, there is no escape from a demon, is there?  Once it's inside you, it's always there.  And you're not."

"Indeed," said Uldred slowly.  "Hold tight to that innocence, Anders.  It is the strongest shield you have."  Uldred picked up the papers again.  "Go, take a book and stare out the window, boy.  Pretend you're happy to be home somewhere where I don't have to look at you."

Anders took the dismissal in silence.  He picked up Henjen's book on alchemical reagents, and curled up on the window seat to think.

In the days following their talk, Anders found that Uldred was no longer as cold and forbidding towards him as he had been in the past.  And yet somehow, he was still surprised when he felt the Senior Enchanter's hand slowly moving down his back in a gentle caress during one of their lessons.  Acutely conscious of the bored Templar standing at the door of the room, Anders looked up without saying anything, to meet Uldred's eyes.

The older man smiled in amusement at the look on his face.  "Is something wrong?"

"No," said Anders uncertainly, "I just thought – you didn't like me."  His voice was quiet, but not whispering.  The Templars perked up when you whispered.

Uldred chuckled and bent lower, as if pointing out something in the text that they were supposed to be reviewing.  He brought his lips close to Anders' ear, and murmured softly, "Everyone likes something a little sweet now and then."  Uldred chuckled again as Anders blushed furiously.  Anders was nineteen and hadn't had sex in months.  Everyone knew that he preferred the company of handsome, older men.  Uldred had every reason to assume his advances would be welcomed.

Anders looked nervously at the door.  "But – "

"Being a Senior Enchanter does have its privileges," smiled Uldred.  "Your lessons are done for the day.  You may return to your quarters now."

Anders picked up his books, and bowed to Uldred, giving him a shy smile as he did so before he left the room with his Templar escort.  He fought down the urge to say something inane to the Templar to see if she would respond, and walked silently back to his room.  Anders threw himself on the bed, and counted to one hundred while pretending to read one of his herbalism texts for his class tomorrow.  He could hear movement in the hallway, another Templar joining the two who were on duty.

Anders smiled to himself, and went to sit at the desk and read.  A few months ago, Anders had started a little daily campaign of shifting the desk in his room a few inches away from the door, and every day the Tranquil had moved it back to its original position, until finally the Knight-Captain had ordered it bolted to the wall.  Anders then promptly removed one of the bolts, leaving only the head that could be easily replaced and was almost undetectable.  A little careful work in the hallway over the course of a few days had left him with a spyhole that he could use to listen to the Templars in the hallway from his room.  Their conversations were frequently quite enlightening.

"Let me take a look at your blade," said Roderic calmly.

Anders could hear the clank of armor and weapons as the two Templars submitted to an impromptu inspection.  Anders wondered what Roderic was up to.

Another set of footsteps entered the hall.

"The seclusion area is off-limits, Senior Enchanter.  It's almost time for curfew."

Anders wished he could see what was happening into the hallway.  Uldred walking up to the two Templars, only to find them with their weapons out and Roderic calmly facing him down.  Anders couldn't decide what he wanted to see more: the look on Uldred's face, or the ruthlessly suppressed jealousy in Roderic's eyes.

"I just wanted to drop off a book for one of my students," said Uldred smoothly.  He had obviously had a lot of experience in dealing with Templars, Anders noted.  He didn't sound in the least bit ruffled.

"The safety of the seclusion area is my duty, not the grades of your students.  As I mentioned before, Senior Enchanter, it's almost time for curfew."

The repeated warning had its effect, and Anders could hear Uldred retreating down the stairs.

"Why don't you just go in there yourself?" asked one of the Templars.  "Get it over with already."

"Shut up," snarled Roderic viciously.  "No one is to go in there without my permission, am I understood?"

"Of course, Lieutenant.  We all heard what happened to the last one."

The first time Anders had heard the Templars make that joke, he had been confused.  When he realized that they meant Kerry, he had been horrified to think that Roderic had known that he and Kerry were lovers before the attack.  Then he had put together a few small details – for instance, that Roderic had never intended to bring back two mages, and had only brought enough knights to escort one mage.  Now, Anders was just amused by Roderic's ongoing struggle with his own passions.  But not so amused that he wouldn't use it for his own ends.

"Lights out," said one of the Templars in the hall.

Anders rose to put away the book – he'd actually read it already, and found it quite interesting.  He turned out the lights, and slipped under the covers to plan out the next steps in his escape.

There were two Templars waiting outside his room the next morning.  "The First Enchanter would like to speak with you."  Anders tried not to look disturbed, and followed them to the First Enchanter's office.

"Please, have a seat."  Anders sat down carefully in the chair the First Enchanter indicated, and waited for him to speak.  "I am changing your schedule slightly.  You have made great progress with your alchemical studies, and I feel they are no longer necessary.  Conversely, your progress with your history lessons is not quite what I desire, so I will be taking over for Enchanter Sweeney and overseeing your new course."

Anders flinched.  "Thank you, sir," he managed to say without showing how shocked he was.

"Now that we're done with that," sighed the First Enchanter, "may I politely ask you to restrain your little games to your own playing pieces?  I don't have enough to spare for the wrath of aggrieved Templars."

Anders sat very, very quietly and didn't respond.

Irving handed him a new schedule.  "That's all for now.  The Templars will escort you back to the seclusion area."

Anders rose and left the First Enchanter's office as quickly as he dared.  As he walked, he thought about what the First Enchanter had said.  Anders smiled to himself as he realized that Irving hadn't actually told him to stop.

Anders settled himself on the window seat and opened his book.  He heard the door of the study room open, and looked up to see who it was.  Roderic glanced around the room, but didn't see him at first and stepped all the way into the room, confused and concerned.  Anders coughed gently, and waved to Roderic.  "Here I am."

Roderic smiled wryly.  "I must be losing my touch."  He walked over to the window to see what Anders was doing.

Anders held up the book.  "Just reading.  No ropes, nothing to be afraid of."

"I see."  He looked at the book that Anders was reading.  "Are you teaching yourself Orlesian?"

"Well, I'm trying to, at any rate.  I have a lot of time on my hands these days, and at the very least, I can use it to read some of the romance novels that they refuse to translate."  Anders tilted his head questioningly.  "Do you speak it?  I know your family is Orlesian, but weren't you born in Ferelden?"

"Yes," Roderic leaned against the wall across from Anders.  "My father had left his wife alone in Orlais when he came to Meghren's court.  He was very much older than my mother, and when she finally came to join him, she brought – shall we say – some extra baggage with her."  Roderic shrugged.  "But they already had heirs enough to spare, so I was sent to the Chantry at a decent age – and before any obvious resemblances started to show.  I have never been to Orlais, and I haven't spoken in Orlesian for some time."

"It's a lot easier to read it than it is to try and guess how the words are pronounced," said Anders, trying to gloss over Roderic's sudden, personal revelation.  "There are so many letters in such weird places!  I'll have to ask the First Enchanter if there is anyone who can tutor me."

"What's wrong with asking me?"

Anders looked out the window.  "You're not even supposed to be talking to me."

"True, but," Roderic had pulled off his gauntlets, and with a slight hesitation, took one of Anders' hands in his, "when has that ever stopped you before?"

Anders continued looking out at the sky, instead of at Roderic, but he didn't pull his hand away.  "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Again, when has that ever stopped you?"  Anders still didn't move his hand, and Roderic gently ran his fingers over Anders' hand, watching the young mage's breathing speed up.  "Not here, of course, and not right now.  But – perhaps another time?"

Anders nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"That is good," Roderic smiled, "so yes, another time.  I shall leave you to your studies now."  He looked at Anders, considering, but Anders resolutely continued staring out the window, his pale cheeks flushed.  Roderic left the room, leaving the door open for the Templar on duty outside.

Anders resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his robes.  "Fool," he hissed under his breath.  "Why am I such a fool?"  At least now he knew that if he did chose to stay and be a proper Circle pet, Roderic would happily play the part.  He could have everything he dreamed of, as long as he was willing to forget the fact that Roderic was faking it.  But if he ran now, he would be punished the way Greagoir had wanted to punish him for years.  Breaking out from seclusion was considered proof that you were a blood mage, because it was supposed to be impossible.

 

For a moment, Anders didn't realize that he was still asleep, and dreaming.  The warm body pressed against his was so real, the muscular arm draped over his hip was so perfect, that he wanted to believe it was real.  He could feel the hand move up along his chest, gently caressing, and he forced himself to sit up and pull away.

"Tout va bien, minou?" murmured the shape of Roderic sleepily, and Anders felt his heart skip a beat.  He wanted this to be real more than anything he had ever wanted, but he knew it was a lie.  Worse than that, actually.

Anders slid out of the bed, and picked up a robe from the nearby chair to cover himself.  He pulled it on, and wondered if being naked would have been less distracting than the soft, heavy velvet wrap he was now wearing.  The Thing in the bed propped himself up on his elbows, and looked curiously at Anders.  "Stop it," Anders demanded.  "Show yourself."

He raised an eyebrow, and looked down at his body, barely covered by the bed sheets.  "Minou, if I show any more of myself –"

"You're not Roderic.  This is a dream."

"Is it?"  The shape of Roderic leaned back to the pillows, put his arms behind his head.  "Are you quite certain?  It could be real, so very easily."

Anders frowned at the dark, seductive tones of the voice.  "No," he said softly, "it can't.  And it won't.  Now go away."

"Go where?" he smiled.  "Back to his dreams, where you are kneeling in front of him, pleading with him not to break your heart?  I quite like that role, if you must know."

Anders just stared at the demon wearing Roderic's shape.  He almost asked it what it wanted, but realized just in time that it would be a mistake.  "I'm not making any deals with you," he said firmly.

"Did I offer anything?" smiled the demon as it stood up.  The sheets slipped away, revealing the full glory of Roderic's muscular body.  "I was merely making an observation.  A bridge between two dreams, as it were.  There's nothing stopping you from making it reality."  The demon shrugged.  "You don't believe me, do you?  It is your loss, minou.  But remember – if you leave, you'll never know."  The demon walked out of the room, still wearing Roderic's shape, and the dream melted away.

Anders looked around.  Now he was in his familiar little corner of the Fade, where he normally met with random spirits in his dreams or when healing.  A spirit of valor walked past him, pausing only to give him an approving nod as it continued on to someone else's dream.  He looked over at the Black City, forever out of reach in the distance.

"You are very bright today," said the spirit of hope.

"Am I?" asked Anders in surprise.  "I don't feel bright."  He looked at the broken ships on the shore below.  "I'm not sure of anything anymore."

"And yet, you are still here.  You still dream."

"True," Anders agreed.  "I'm very stupid that way."


	3. Our outraged minds are boiling

Anders followed his Templar escort out of the study room, then suddenly stopped.  "Wait, I left a book.  Can we go back and get it?  It's a restricted text," he explained as he checked his bag again to make sure it wasn't there.

The Templar sighed.  "Gasparon is still in the study room," said the Templar.  "Just run back."  Anders nodded, and ran back down the hallway into the study room to get his book.  The Templar saw him run into the study room, and waited a few minutes for him to return.  After a few minutes had passed, the Templar went after him, walking quickly.  The study room was empty.  There was no sign of the other Templar.  "Gasparon?"

"What?"  The other Templar emerged from behind one of the shelves in the study room, fixing his armor.  "What are you doing back here?"

"Where's Anders?"

"Didn't he go with you?"

"He just ran into this room a few minutes ago."  The two Templars looked around in shock.  "Oh, Maker."  The Templars ran to find the Knight-Lieutenant.

Roderic looked around the study room, and idly picked up the book on the table.  "So let me see if I have this correct: you searched this room, then came to get me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Who was watching the door?" asked Roderic as he carelessly slid the book into his pocket.

"Uh – no one, sir," admitted the first Templar.

Roderic nodded.  It was what he had expected to hear.  He'd already spotted at least two places in the room where Anders could have concealed himself while the Templars made a panicked search.  "Check the stables, and see if any animals are missing.  I shall make a report to the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter."  Roderic straightened his shoulders and walked upstairs to the First Enchanter's office, where he and Greagoir were waiting.

"Well?" demanded the Knight-Commander.

"He is gone," said Roderic reluctantly.  "I suppose there will be a recovery mission?"

"Would you be willing to lead the mission again?" asked Irving calmly.  "It might mean spending years on the road again."

"I am not certain that I would be the best choice for such a mission, First Enchanter."

"Not certain?" sputtered Greagoir.  "You know more about Anders than anyone here.  Except for Irving, of course," snarled Greagoir.  "But I wouldn't trust him to bring the fool back."

The First Enchanter looked curiously at the Knight-Commander.  "Surely, you're not implying that I had something to do with this, Greagoir."

"Just shut up, Irving," snapped the Knight-Commander.  "You knew he had something planned, and you didn't stop him."

The First Enchanter shrugged.  "I had no proof, Greagoir.  We both know how important proof is for these sorts of accusations."

Greagoir glared at the First Enchanter.  "Don't start with me; I'm not in the mood for your games."

Roderic had the uncomfortable feeling that he was watching something like a lover's spat, and wondered if he should excuse himself.

"What was the book?" asked the First Enchanter suddenly.

Roderic started in surprise.  "I don't recall, First Enchanter.  My apologies.  I'm not even sure if there was still a book there."

"Well, the Tranquil will have put it away by now.  Does it matter?  I need to select a recovery team."  The Knight-Commander stood to leave the room.

"Of course," said Irving absently.  "It just seems so out of character for him.  What if the escort had acted properly and followed him back to the room?  I'm sure he would have left a book there, if only to give credence to his story.  Ah, well," sighed the First Enchanter, without looking at Roderic again.  "I'm sure it will all turn out for the best."

Greagoir glared at the First Enchanter.  "Knight-Lieutenant, will you please go find Knight-Captain Imé and send her to my office?"

"Of course, sir."  Roderic bowed to the two before leaving to carry out his orders.  He sent Imé to the Knight-Commander, then went to look around Anders' room one more time.  He pulled out the book that Anders had left on the table, an innocuous romance novel in Orlesian called "Love Lost."  Roderic pulled out the scrap of paper that Anders had used to mark his place in the story.  The paper had a doodle of a tiny kitten eating a gigantic fish cream sandwich.  He crumpled up the scrap, and tossed it into the fire.  He left the book on the desk with the other romance novels that Anders had there, and returned to his room to make his own preparations.

 

"Please, I beg you," the woman pleaded, "the gown must be fantastic!  I positively cannot go to the ball looking like everyone else!  I must be magnificent!"

Anders continued walking around the dais without answering.  Her massive breasts were barely supported by her corset, and her underclothes displayed all of her curves, but he didn't seem to be impressed by her feminine wiles.  He sat down on one of the cushions scattered around the dressing room, and began to sketch.  One of the four cats came over to sit and stare at him while he worked, and Burton stood over his shoulder, pulling out cloth that would match the design that Anders was creating.

"Brilliant," smiled the elderly dressmaker approvingly.  "Milady will be unsurpassed at the ball.  I know this," he bowed, "because we have not gowned any other women who are attending.  They preferred to go to Eshanne," he sniffed.  "Milady has honored us with her form, and I guarantee: it shall be clothed so that all eyes will be on you, and all hearts at your feet."

The noblewoman smiled with delight.  "I am overjoyed, serrah!  I cannot wait to see it!"

Anders continued drawing the dress while Burton displayed colors for the woman to choose from.  One of the other cats came up and sat on his lap, purring with pleasure, and he paused briefly to pet her before going back to his work.

From somewhere outside, he heard a loud noise, followed by shouts and screams.  Anders looked up, and one of the elven seamstresses rushed in.  "Oh, messere!  There's been a horrible accident in the square!"

"There are bodies everywhere," added one of the tailors.  The noblewoman's maid rushed to help her get dressed so that she could go out with the crowds and look at the devastation.

Anders put down his sketchbook and went to the front door to look.  The tailor had exaggerated slightly.  There weren't bodies everywhere, but it looked like part of a warehouse had collapsed, trapping the workers inside and crushing some bystanders.  He frowned at the obvious panic in the square.  Why wasn't anyone helping?  Where were the guards and the Chantry?  Anders looked around, but couldn't see anyone coming.  He sighed, but knew that if he waited too long, there wouldn't be anyone left to save.  He grabbed his staff from the closet and ran out to the square to see what he could do.

Some guards were moving away the rubble, but there was still no sign of anyone from the Chantry.  Anders shook his head, and knelt down next to a severely injured young woman to save her.  He heard the clank of armor, but ignored it and moved on to the next person.

"Keep your hands still, apostate," snarled the Templar as she drew her sword.

Anders looked up in surprise.  "You know, I was just thinking that no one sane would interrupt a healer at a time like this.  Of all the days to be proven right," he sighed.  "Are you sure this can't wait?"

"Silence.  I do as the Order dictates, apostate.  Get up," she said harshly.  The woman's voice was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite remember the name.  He wasn't sure if she was from the Chantry here, or one of the Templars who had arrived at the tower while he had been in seclusion.  Her sword was at his throat, and Anders reluctantly stood, letting her drive him into the arms of two more Templars, who promptly bound his hands behind his back.  Anders didn't bother to protest.  He could see something approaching madness in the leader's eyes, and decided to save his pleas for the Mother Superior.  "To the Chantry," she commanded, and they marched him away.

Anders clenched his teeth as he listened to the screams of pain and the sounds of suffering.  "You don't care at all that you could have saved a few lives by just waiting a few minutes?"

"Gag the blood mage."

"I'm no blood mage, you idiot!"  One of the Templars put a cloth in his mouth and tied it behind his head before he could go on.  Anders glared at her, but didn't stop walking.  They passed some of Burton's customers on the way, but they all pretended not to recognize him and scurried away as quickly as they could.  Anders sighed to himself and wondered what life in the tower was like these days.

The Chantry sisters shook their heads sadly as the Templars led him to the cellar of the Chantry.  Anders waited patiently as they took away his staff, and locked him in one of the anti-magic cells.  He clumsily pointed out the gag and turned around to show that his hands were still bound, but the leader ignored him.  Anders frowned around the gag.  What was wrong with this woman?

One of the priestesses came to the cellar.  "Greetings, Ser Imé.  I see you have caught your apostate."

The Templar knelt for the priestess' blessing.  "It has been my honor to do the Maker's work, Mother Charliss.  This man is a dangerous blood mage – "

Anders shook his head furiously.

"Who has repeatedly broken out of the Circle Tower," the Templar went on.  "He is a corrupting influence, and I beg you not to speak to him unless absolutely necessary."

The priestess sighed sadly.  "It is a grave sin for one so young."

Anders tried to figure out how to signify his innocence without being able to talk.

"Do you have any evidence that this mage has used blood magic?"

"I do," said the Templar firmly, and Anders shook his head again.  "He has influenced the mind of one of our best Templars, Mother Charliss."  The Templar glared at Anders.  "Perhaps his death will restore the poor man to his senses."

Anders looked at the Templar in confusion.  He suspected that this Templar had him mixed up with someone else.  That would be awkward.

The priestess sighed.  "A pity, indeed.  Come to my office, and we shall prepare the paperwork.  I've already sent for the Knight-Commander."

That was it then, Anders told himself.  He was going to be dragged back to the tower in disgrace, yet again.

Anders knelt down as best he could to watch and wait for something to happen.  An elven serving maid came downstairs with food and drink for the Templars guarding him, and a plate of bread and water for him.

"Uh - he can't eat that way," said the girl nervously.

"Just leave it there," grunted one of the Templars as he tore at his food.  The girl obediently set the tray down and walked away.

Anders watched them eat.  He couldn't believe he was being treated like this.  The jug of water lay there, and he could see tantalizing beads of sweat forming on the outside of the jug.  He couldn't ever recall being this thirsty in his life.  He wondered if making a noise would remind them that he had needs, or whether they would just mock him.

The Templars drank deeply from the wine the serving girl had brought them, and finished their food.  One of them casually kicked over the jug of water.  "Oops.  Oh well, nothing for you, blood mage."

Anders forced himself to sit still and make no response.  He wasn't a blood mage.  Would they feel guilty when they learned the truth?

The Templars sat down, talking to each other about horses.  One of them suddenly slumped over, and before the second could rise to his feet, he sank back in his chair as well.

Anders stared in shock as their chests stopped moving, their eyes grew glassy and still.  The elf serving maid returned, and with a small giggle, deftly removed their purses and found the keys to the cell.

"One second, and we'll be out of this," she smiled.  She struggled slightly with the door, and Anders quickly stood up to help her as best he could.  "Thanks."  She undid the ropes on his hands, and stood on her tiptoes to untie the gag.

"Who are you?" Anders stammered.  "Why are you helping me?"

"You don't remember me, do you?  You saved my father a few years ago.  The Templars told you to stop, but you healed him anyway."  She smiled and took his hand.  "Come on, we can get into the sewers from down here.  We'll come up outside the city, and you can run to anywhere from there."

Anders grabbed his staff and followed the elf.  Two dead Templars.  Now they would never believe he wasn't a blood mage.

She opened a grate, and they climbed down into the sewers.  She closed the grate securely as soon as they were inside.  "They'll figure it out, I'm sure, but it will buy us some time."

"Is there any way to get back into the city from here?" asked Anders nervously.  He was being foolish, and he knew it.

"What do you want to go back there for?"

Anders sighed.  "I'm worried about my cats," he confessed.  "I wouldn't put it past her to kill them and claim they're possessed by demons, or something."

The elf sighed.  "You know, you're right.  Imé is pretty nutty."  She took Anders by the hand and guided him through the filth and muck.

"You know her?"

"She's been here for a few months, hanging out with the Arl and trying to find traces of some dangerous blood mage."  She looked curiously at him.  "I had no idea she meant you, though, or I would have poisoned her ages ago."

"I'm not a blood mage!  Why in the Maker's name does she think that?" he asked desperately.

The elf shrugged.  "Something about mind control, I think.  She doesn't talk about the reasons much, she just runs with it."

Anders groaned miserably.  "Andraste's knickerweasels!"

"What?"  The elf stared at him.  "What does that mean?"

Anders smiled wryly.  "I haven't the faintest idea, really.  My mother used to say it all the time.  I've never had a reason to, until now."

"Well, it certainly seems to fit."

"It really does," Anders agreed.  "It makes just as much sense as anything else that has happened lately."

The elf stopped and looked up.  "We're back at the square now.  Well, the alleys behind the square anyway.  Which side do you want to be on?"

"Is there a hiding spot where we can see Burton's shop?"

"Sure," she led him out to a small alley where they had a good view of the shop.

Anders felt his heart skip a beat, the old familiar tightening of the chest as he saw the man in front of the store.  Roderic was casually holding a basket full of cats and arguing with someone inside the shop.

"You're being ridiculous," said Roderic calmly.

"They could be demons," insisted Imé furiously.

Roderic looked down at the cats he was holding.  "I think the most suspicious thing about them is that the white one won't stop staring at her reflection in my armor.  Is there a demon of vanity?"

"This is not a joke," Imé hissed.

"You're making it one," smiled Roderic.  "You stopped a Spirit Healer from saving lives, told the Chantry a pack of lies about one of the most harmless apostates in Thedas, and now you want to kill four innocent animals."  A carriage rolled up, and Roderic handed in the basket of cats.

"Oh, the poor dears," murmured a soft voice.

"Careful, cousin, they might be demons," said Roderic slyly.

"They're cats.  How would anyone tell the difference?" asked the beautiful woman in the carriage as she gently caressed the cats.

From his hiding place in the alley, Anders sighed as he watched the cats begin playing with her jewelry.  "She's getting my cats.  Again.  Faithless little beasts!  After all I've done for them, they just run off with the first insanely wealthy woman they meet."

The elf looked at him.  "You're very strange."

"You have no idea."  They huddled behind some barrels and kept watching the Templars.

Roderic and his cousin exchanged a few more words and kissed each other, Orlesian-fashion, before she drove off with the cats.

"On your head be it," said Imé ominously.  "If anything happens to her because of those cats – "

"The worst thing that will happen to her is that she'll spend more than her jewelry allowance in buying them all diamond collars, and she'll get in trouble with her husband."  A Templar ran up, panting.  "Oh, now what?"

The elf frowned.  "I think we should go now."

"I want to see what happens," whispered Anders, and watched the scene unfold with a sort of sick fascination.

Roderic frowned as the Templar reported the escape, and shook his head sadly as Imé raged.

"This is my operation," she shouted at him.  "And I'll do it my way!"

"Well, you're doing it all wrong," Roderic insisted.

"You just want to bring him back so you can fuck him!  He's corrupted your mind!  I'm going to destroy him, and you can't stop me!"

"Will you listen to yourself?" Roderic snapped.  "You sound like a jealous fishwife.  You're talking about one of the most valuable mages in all of Ferelden!  Of course I want to bring him back!"

The elf looked curiously at Anders.  "That act isn't fooling anyone.  He totally wants you, doesn't he?"

Anders blushed bright red and didn't answer.

"Yeah, thought so," muttered the elf.  The two Templars were still shouting at each other.  "Do we need to stay here any longer?" she asked.

Anders sighed.  "I guess not."  Roderic had known where he was the whole time, he realized, but hadn't contacted him for some reason.  Anders moved back to the sewer grate, but heard swords being drawn.  He looked back, and saw Imé and Roderic, swords out, snarling at each other.  The Templars around them, shouting at them to stop.  People in the square running for cover.

Imé swung first, and Roderic defended himself in the best way possible – by trying to kill her.

"We should get out of here," said the elf nervously, but Anders couldn't leave.

"Why doesn't someone stop them?" he whispered desperately.  Of course, he knew why.  They were afraid.  One of the Templars ran back to the Chantry, to find someone who could calm them down.  Anders had never actually seen Roderic fight before, and watched as he easily fended off Imé's attacks, toying with her.  He couldn't hear their conversation anymore, they were no longer shouting, but it seemed like Roderic was trying to talk her down.

A priestess ran into the square, held onto Roderic's arm, commanded them to stop fighting.  Roderic lowered his guard.  Imé didn't stop.  Her blade whipped out, and Roderic staggered.

Anders heard a scream, but didn't realize that he was making the noise.  Imé's blade moved again, sank into Roderic's throat.  Anders ran out, dodging the elf's hands as she tried to stop him.  He caught Roderic's body as it fell.  He knew it was too late, not even his power could save Roderic now.  There was nothing left to save.  Just an empty shell.  He stared at the handsome face, so still and quiet now.  He could hear the panic in the square, the priestess angrily chastising Imé.

"You see?" screamed Imé triumphantly.  "The blood mage is here, as I knew he would be!"

The priestess looked down at the mage, kneeling on the ground with the fallen Templar in his arms.  He didn't look like an abomination.  He looked like a man who had just lost someone he loved.

"Why?" said Anders softly.  "He was your friend.  Why?  Why didn't you just kill me when you had the chance?"

"Filthy mage," snarled Imé.  "If you love him so much, you can follow him!"  She raised her sword again, but the priestess intervened.

"Enough blood has been shed here today!  Stop this madness at once!"

Imé paused.  "Very well.  Templars, seize the mage and bind him.  We can bring him back to the tower to face judgment for his crimes."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," said Anders in the same soft voice.  "You're mad to even think it."

"Resisting seizure?" smiled Imé.  "Then I can kill you, and no one will care."

Anders wanted to cry, to mourn everything that he had lost.  But apostates didn't have that luxury, did they?  "No, no one will care," he replied, dusting off his robes as he stood up.  "And no one can stop me from killing you."

The priestess looked at him in surprise, and then stepped back, out of the way as Anders unleashed a stunning blast that threw everyone around him to the ground.  Caught off guard, the Templars were flung down, and Anders raised his staff, concentrating on the sky above him.  He drew down a bolt of lightning that ran through Imé and the Templars with her, one after another, leaving them stunned and helpless for the ball of fire that followed.  Their screams were horrifying.  Anders could hear the metal of their armor melting into their bodies.  In his entire life, he'd never raised a hand against a Templar before.  But he'd thought about it quite a lot.  Time well spent, Anders decided, and watched their smoking corpses fall.

Anders walked over to the cowering priestess.  "Tell Greagoir, I am not a blood mage," he said calmly.  He walked back to where Roderic lay, and knelt at his side one last time.  He could hear the demon's smirking voice, warning him: "If you leave, you will never know."  He took the heavy purse at Roderic's belt, and the bag where Roderic carried his notes and papers.  He wasn't sure if he would ever read them.  It would just be torturing himself with what might have been, but he didn't want to leave them for anyone else to find.  He looked at Roderic's body again, wishing he had the courage to take something else, but acutely aware that he didn't have the right.

Finally, Anders stood slowly and walked away.


	4. Ready to lead us into a deadly fight.

The boat rocked violently, almost spinning around in the storm.  Anders sat quietly, wedged securely in a corner, and watched the other passengers fight off seasickness.  This wasn't something he could help with, they just had to suffer.

"The Waking Sea is certainly awake tonight," chuckled the captain, and the drunker passengers laughed at his joke, while the ones who were too miserable to laugh continued to groan in agony as the boat rocked and did everything but stand on its head.

Anders was the only one who remained completely silent.  He'd made the mistake of reading one of the notes from Roderic's bag while waiting for the ship to leave Denerim.  It was a letter that Roderic had never sent him.  A love letter.  There was no date, so he had no idea if Roderic had written it years ago, or yesterday morning.  Anders buried his head in his knees, and tried not to cry.

Anders was dressed as a courtier, wearing the rich clothing of an idle noble and a heavy cloak wrapped around his shoulders.  He'd darkened his hair and eyebrows slightly to change his appearance, and had sold his staff for a few coppers before boarding the first ship that was leaving Denerim's port.  Apparently he was going to Highever, now.  He didn't really care where he was going, he just wanted to get away from Denerim and everything it represented.

"Je suis le mal de mer," groaned a pretty elven woman.  "Je meurs!"

With a sigh, Anders helped her to her feet, and held her over the side while she was violently ill.  He washed her face and forced her to swallow a drink before leading her back to the cabin, where she collapsed against him.  Anders decided not to bother moving away, and held her for the rest of the voyage.  They reached port at dawn, and he helped her down the gangplank.

"Zhanne!  Zhanne, darling!"  A tall human woman ran up, and helped Anders lift the sick elf into a carriage.  Before Anders realized what was happening, he had entered the carriage as well and was still holding Zhanne's head in his lap while the human woman took the reins and drove away from the docks.  Anders shrugged.  He had nowhere to go, after all.  He leaned closer, and carefully sent a wave of healing magic through the elf in his arms, to speed her recovery.

The carriage pulled up in front of a large, bustling estate house on the outskirts of  Highever.  "Help me carry her inside," pleaded the woman, and they carefully brought the elf up two flights of beautifully appointed stairs.  Anders followed the woman into a richly-decorated suite and they laid her down on the bed.  The elven woman moaned softly, and Anders brushed her hair out of her eyes.  "The poor dear, I should never have let her go to Denerim," murmured the human woman.  She watched Anders pull off the restricting clothes the elven woman wore so that she could rest comfortably.  The human finally stopped and looked at Anders, taking in the clothes he was wearing and his looks.  "Are you buying or selling?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Let me start over," smiled the woman.  "I'm Madame Vina, and this is King's Wait.  Are you looking for work, dear?  I could certainly use someone like you on the upper floors."

Anders stared at her.  "King's Wait?  This is a brothel?"

"Dearie, this is the only real brothel as far as Ferelden is concerned.  King's Wait," she said proudly, "where morals sleep and lovers meet.  You don't have any luggage, so I'm guessing you've either run away or been thrown out.  Either way, you're on your own, and I have customers who would pay plenty of sovereigns to get the kind of treatment you just gave away to darling little Zhanne."  Madame Vina laughed as she saw that Anders didn't understand.  She slipped an arm around his waist, and led him out of the room.  "We'll let her sleep.  Come to my office, dearie, and I'll explain a little more."

 

"You're playing rather cautiously today, Cousland."

The young noble grinned across the gaming table at his friend.  "I'm trying to save up enough to get into the Angel's room.  Vina says the current rate is eight sovereigns."

"Eight sovereigns?  Who pays that much for a fuck?" demanded Thomas Howe.

At the other table, both the Tevinter mercenary and an Antivan noble raised their hands in answer to Howe's question.

Thomas laughed at them.  "I sure hope it was worth it."

"Believe me, it was," said the noblewoman.  "I am the one who raised the price, by the way."

"Bitch," hissed Lucius, the mercenary.

"Then why did you pay it?" asked Thomas.  "Go down a floor, and save your coin."

"You've never been with the Angel, or you wouldn't have to ask that."  Lucius smiled wolfishly as his opponent threw down her cards.  He swept the pile of coins into his pouch and rose from the table.  "Well, you're out of the running for tonight, Cousland."

"Blood of Andraste!" swore the young noble as the mercenary headed upstairs with his winnings.

Lucius chuckled and walked up to the fourth floor, where the première classe of King's Wait were hidden away from those who couldn't afford their services.  Zhanne, the cheerful Orlesian elf, waved to him as she walked into her room with a Fereldan general at her heels.

"Back again, serrah?" Madame Vina greeted him.  "I don't suppose you want to sample one of our other delights?"

"Thank you, but no," the mercenary poured a handful of gold coins on the counter, and pushed ten of them towards her before picking up the rest.  "I want the Angel."

"Of course," smiled Madame Vina.  "Ah, peace and serenity is getting so expensive these days," she sighed happily, and updated the guestbook.  She leaned back to check that the door was open, and nodded to Lucius.  "Go on in.  Have a pleasant night!"

The mercenary, veteran of dozens of pitched battles, a warrior who had faced down the most vicious monsters of Thedas, a man who drank with banns and teyrns every day, paused outside the door and straightened his clothes like any nervous boy on a first date.  He took a deep breath and walked into the room, closing the door behind him.

There was a young man inside, sitting at the window, watching the stars slowly appearing in the night sky.  He smiled at the mercenary, a sweet and friendly smile that had nothing false about it.  "Hello, Lucius!"  He jumped down from the window seat and walked up to greet the mercenary, who was watching him with a slight smile of amusement.  "I guess your game went well?"

Lucius pulled Anders into his arms for a kiss before answering, a deeply intense kiss that left his head spinning.  "You deserve your nickname," said Lucius hoarsely.  "Kissing you is like touching the gates of the Golden City."

Anders laughed, slightly embarrassed by his devotion, and pulled away.  "Who were you playing?  I thought everyone in Highever knew better than to play against you when you're broke."

"Are you accusing me of cheating?" chuckled the mercenary, and drew Anders to the bed so they could lie down together.  "It was Maribel.  I think she was distracted by young Cousland's inane chatter, to be honest.  The insolent little puppy was trying to get enough gold to see you."

Anders frowned slightly.  He didn't want to offend the Couslands, but he didn't want to get involved with them.

"Don't worry," chuckled Lucius, pulling Anders close.  "I locked him out and made a new golden key.  He doesn't have the patience to save up that much."

"Oh," smiled Anders.  "That was very kind of you."  He reached up and gave Lucius a quick kiss on the cheek.

"You are pleased?"  Lucius ran his hands down the side of Anders' face.  "I desire nothing more."

Anders blushed slightly, still unable to control his reactions after all this time.  Madame Vina had chided him about it more than once.  When it came down to it, he was just very bad at this profession – which was probably why he made so much.

"I have dreamed," said Lucius softly, "of returning to my homeland and making a name for myself there.  Being with you always makes me feel like I can do anything.  Would you come with me, if I went?"

"No," said Anders gently.  "I'm sorry."

"I rather thought you would say that."  Lucius didn't sound surprised.  "Are you so afraid of leaving this familiar place?"

"It's not that," Anders said slowly.  "I just – I don't want anything bad to happen to anyone because of me.  I'm sorry, I can't explain."  He reached up to draw Lucius' face down to his.  "But I will always remember that you asked me.  I am grateful."  He kissed him, trying to drive away all thoughts of further discussion.  He drew Lucius over him, letting the mercenary's hands slide beneath his clothes.  He moaned softly at the touch of Lucius' callused hand on his skin.  He'd never learned to control that either, or how to fake being aroused when he wasn't – or that he wasn't, when he was.

Lucius continued kissing the soft lips, and reached out for the small jar that every male who worked in King's Wait kept by the bed.  He dipped his fingers in the slick ointment, and returned to the soft spot between Anders' legs.  He stroked gently, drawing another tantalizing moan from Anders, and he kissed him wildly, feeding on the young man's soft submission.  "I want you," whispered the mercenary, "I want to be all the way inside you."  He slowly inserted the tip of one finger, moving it slowly while he waited for permission.

"Yes," Anders replied, moving his body closer to Lucius.

"Because you want me?" asked Lucius.  "And not because you feel you must.  Say it, my angel," he demanded hungrily.

"I want you," said Anders simply.  "I wouldn't say it if I didn't, you know that."  Anders had never realized how much people valued hearing those words.  He'd always assumed that working in a brothel meant he would have to give himself to anyone who would pay.  But instead, he got paid to say 'no' every so often, so that he could drive his clients wild when he finally said 'yes.'

Lucius kissed his lips, his ears, his cheeks, his neck, every part of his face that he could reach while Anders pulled off their clothes.  When they were both naked, Anders dug his hands into Lucius' dark hair and spread his legs wider, letting Lucius work two, then three fingers into him while they kissed.  "You're always so quiet," whispered Lucius wonderingly.  He added more lubricant to his fingers, and continued moving his fingers in and out.  "I can feel your passion," he said as he felt Anders' body responding to his touch, "but I never get to hear it."

Anders laughed, a little breathlessly.  "I've never been very loud," he said sweetly.  "I'm not any good at talking dirty, either."

Lucius drew his fingers out of Anders.  "Turn around," he whispered.  "I want to get in as deep as I can."

Anders kissed him again, taking a moment to run his hands over Lucius' stiff cock, then turned and settled himself on his hands and knees.  Lucius bent down and swiped his tongue over the warm, wet circle, a swift kiss before he knelt behind Anders and eagerly guided his cock into him.

The only sound Anders made was a soft gasp at the initial penetration, and he silently dropped his head to the bed, clutching at the sheets as Lucius sank his cock deeper into him.  The mercenary didn't have an exceptionally long or wide cock as far as Anders could tell, but he liked to slam really hard into the person he was with, hard and fast, and he could go for a long time without coming.  Lucius was holding him by the hips, pounding into him so hard that he could feel the bed shifting with every stroke.

Anders murmured softly as he felt his orgasm building, and twisted his hands in the sheets.  Lucius continued ramming into him, his breath coming faster and faster as he worked himself in and out of the soft body in his hands.

"Fuck," moaned Lucius.  "Oh, Maker, this is so fucking good."  No matter how rough he was, Anders never complained and was always smiling and pleasant the next day, as if Lucius hadn't hurt him at all.  He jerked Anders back, slamming his cock all the way inside him.  Anders gave another soft gasp as Lucius began to twitch, "I'm coming," he groaned, still holding Anders tightly to him.  Anders hid his face in his arms as Lucius filled him, then sank to the bed when he pulled out.

Lucius bent down to kiss him tenderly.  "I will never get enough of you."  Anders returned the kiss with equal passion, until Lucius pulled away.  "I should get going, before Vina throws me out."  He pulled off one of the heavy golden rings he wore, and laid it on the bedside table without saying anything, then began collecting his clothes.

Anders smiled at the present, and stretched the way a sated cat does.

"I'm a brute," said Lucius suddenly.  "Why do you let me come back?"

"I'll be fine," Anders laughed, and pulled up the sheets, hiding the bruises.  "It's not like you're not doing it on purpose."

Lucius frowned, then bent to kiss him again.  "I adore you," he said softly.  "It would be an honor to die for you.  No one who has ever kissed you would deny that."  Anders flushed, but Lucius left the room before he could answer.

Anders frowned.  Lucius was getting too intense.  He slid out of bed, and ran a hand over his body, healing the tears and the bruises.  Anders rinsed himself clean, then pulled on clean clothes and changed the sheets before lying down to get some rest.  He wasn't sure what to do about Lucius, and decided to ask Zhanne's advice in the morning.

 

Anders woke suddenly, not sure what had disturbed his rest.  Then he heard it, the familiar rhythm, altered subtly because the wearer wasn't in armor, but he knew those footsteps.  He would know them anywhere.

"And this is the top floor, where they keep the best talent of the house," the teyrn was saying.

"Seems rather pricey," said Greagoir mockingly.  "How much do you tax this place?"

"Let's not discuss that," laughed the teyrn.  "And you really should be asking Eleanor, not me.  I'm not even allowed in here!"

"Yes, so what exactly are you doing in here, Bryce?"  The voice of the teyrna was slightly chilly as she addressed her husband.  "Greagoir, dear, why do you let him bring you to such places?"  There was the sound of a familial kiss, and Anders assumed the teyrna was greeting the Knight-Commander.

"Well, cousin, I made the mistake of letting Bryce know I was in Highever and he was determined to show me the sights."  There was a satisfied sigh, as the men sat down on the comfortable chairs in the waiting area.

Anders pulled on his boots and crept around the room as silently as he could, gathering things in preparation for an escape.  He paused to listen.  He couldn't hear anyone in armor.  If they weren't here for him, then who were the Templars after?  Greagoir didn't leave the tower unless he had to.  He picked up a cloak with a deep, concealing hood and continued to listen.

"And so you just had to show him the brothel and the tavern?"

The teyrn laughed.  "I chose the brothel; Greagoir is the one who wanted to go to the tavern."

"I was meeting someone there," said the Knight-Commander defensively.  "Some dockhand who says one of his co-workers is hiding a mage and his daughter in some house at the end of the village."

Anders started in surprise.  He had noticed the signs of the Collective on one of the houses at the end of the village, but hadn't stopped to investigate.  It was a 'harbor,' a place for mages to take shelter and plan a journey to somewhere safer.  He hadn't needed the help of the Collective, and he didn't want to endanger anyone.  But a mage with a daughter?  He tried to imagine the terror of having a loving parent taken away, or worse.  He couldn't let it happen.  He knew he had to do something.

Anders checked outside his window.  There was no sign of any Templars in the garden, just the normal group of streetwalkers who couldn't afford a permanent room inside King's Wait.  Anders climbed down from his window, hoping none of the workers cared enough to mention it if they saw him, and slipped out of the garden into the alley beyond.  He pulled the hood over his head, and started towards the end of the village.

It was still dark outside, but dawn would be breaking in an hour or so.  He almost missed the house completely, but found it after a few minutes of frantic searching.  There was still no sign of the Templars.  Anders knocked quietly on the door, in the quick pattern that Kerry had showed him, and waited.  He tried not to panic when there was no response.  Perhaps they were already gone.  He had just raised his hand to knock again when the door was opened by a tall, dark-haired woman who looked like a noble masquerading in the clothes of the merchant class.

"Can I help you?" she said calmly.

"You're in danger," Anders said as quietly as he could.  "The Templars – "

She held up her hand to stop him, and beckoned him inside.  "Quickly."

Anders stepped into the neat little house, and she locked the door behind him.  "Someone – one of the dockworkers – reported a mage and his daughter to the Templars," he stammered.  "They could be here any moment."

There was a man in the room, of medium height, handsome and showing streaks of grey in his dark hair, and he and the woman looked at each other, shock in his eyes, concern and fierce determination in hers.  "Take the children, and go," he commanded.  "I'll meet you there."

"No," she shook her head.  "We stay together."

"Do as I say, please," he said firmly.  "We don't have time to argue."

The woman grabbed a cloak and ran out of the room.

"Thank you for your warning," smiled the man.  "I don't recognize you."  He gathered his staff and a bag of essentials as he spoke, and threw a dark cloak over his shoulders.

Anders shook his head.  "I've never been here.  I don't – we've never met."

"But how did you know where to come?" he asked curiously, trying not to sound suspicious as he finished his preparations.

"A friend showed me the signs, once.  It was a long time ago.  When I heard Gre – the Knight-Commander talking, I knew what house he meant."

The man raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.  "Well, it's time for me to get going.  You have my thanks."  He reached for the door, but both men froze.  The sound was faint, but familiar.  The regular marching step of a group of heavily armored men.  "Perhaps we should go out the other way," he said quickly, and ran through the house to a side door.

"What about the children?" asked Anders.  "Are they safe?"

The man grinned.  "They're safe.  They're going over the rooftops."  He looked at Anders, still not sure what to make of him.  "I think you'd better follow me, for the moment.  They're not going to take kindly to you helping a mage."

"No," said Anders sadly.  "I don't suppose they will."  He wondered what he looked like to this man, an apostate who had been free long enough to have children.  Anders wondered if the woman was his wife.  Was there really someone who would give up everything and be chased all over the world just to stay at the side of a hunted man?  The side alley was empty, and they ran down to the street beyond, and they could hear the noise of a door being smashed open behind them.

"Too late," the man grinned.  "If we can make it to the central square without running into anyone, we should be – "

"There!"  The shout had the typical hollow ring of a Templar helm.  "They're heading north!"

Anders suddenly realized they were looking for two people, and that he had ruined the mage's chance of escape.  He wanted to slap himself.  How could he have been so foolish?  A squad of Templars emerged into the street, and started towards them.

"Get behind me!" commanded the mage, and unleashed a blizzard that left slick ice on the ground where the Templars slipped and fell before being speared by shards of ice.

Anders watched, impressed, as the mage twisted the earth itself to throw back the charging Templars before they could get close enough to use their weapons.  The man wasn't a blood mage, just exceptionally powerful.

The last Templar toppled over, frozen, and the man put his staff away again.  "Run!  This way!"  He led Anders around the central square, and Anders realized that they were heading to the docks.

"Maybe I should go back," Anders suggested.  "They won't be looking for one man."

The mage shook his head.  "Too late," he said grimly as another Templar appeared.  "A chasseur!  I should have known," he hissed under his breath.

Anders had never seen a mage-hunter before.  They were the Templars who handled phylacteries, and could nullify magic with their skills.  The Templar was huge, even for an order that focused primarily on physical strength.  He had a greatsword, and his armor was black with three glowing red runes inscribed in the blade of mercy on his chestpiece.

"Surrender, mages," snarled the hollow voice from beneath the helm.

"He isn't a mage," said the man wearily.  "But you're going to kill him anyway, aren't you?  Because he tried to save me."

"The order dictates that anyone aiding an apostate – "

"Maker's breath, you and your blighted dictates!" snarled the mage, and threw a blast of ice at the mage-hunter.

The spell seemed to bounce off his armor, and the Templar did something with his sword, slamming it into the earth in a way that made Anders' head ring.  He staggered back, trying to focus, but he couldn't seem to stand up straight.

"Not a mage?" said the Templar humorlessly.  "If he wasn't a mage, then he would still be standing."

Anders realized he had fallen to his knees, and the mage he had tried to save was sprawled on the ground, clutching at his head in agony.  He realized the Templar's attack had stunned them both, leaving them unable to concentrate enough to draw energy from the Fade.

The mage looked up at Anders in surprise.  "But – " the effort of speech was too much for him, and he just groaned in pain as the Templar approached.

The Templar ripped away the hood concealing Anders' face.  "I don't know you," he snarled.  "It doesn't matter, apostate.  You and this man," he punctuated his words with a vicious kick at the helpless mage's side, cracking bones and making the mage on the ground scream in pain, "you are both condemned.  I will give you one chance.  Where is the girl?"  The mage-hunter had an aura that made Anders want to rip out his own skull.  He'd never felt pain like this before.  It was impossible to concentrate, but even through his suffering, he knew better than to answer.  The Templar struck him across the face, knocking him to the ground.  "The girl," he repeated.  "At least let me save her from becoming corrupted."

His daughter was a mage.  "No," gasped Anders.  "I won't help you cage her."  The Templar pulled Anders up by his hair, and struck him again.  "I'd rather die!"

"That can be arranged," said the Templar grimly.  The heavy metal gauntlet closed around his throat, and Anders couldn't decide what hurt more, the mage-hunter's crippling aura or the steel crushing his windpipe.  Suddenly the Templar staggered, and dropped Anders to clutch at his own throat.

Anders landed heavily, partly on the cobblestones and partly on the mage who was still helpless on the ground.  "Sorry," Anders mumbled, and the mage laughed once in response, before falling silent.  Anders tried to sit up and see what had happened.

There was a thick string around the Templar's neck, too thin for his mail gauntlets to grasp, but thick enough to cut into his armor and choke off his breathing.  The Templar twisted, and went flying across the square, removing the horrible mana-draining aura.

"I thought I told you," coughed out the mage, "to take the children and go."

"Oh, do be quiet, Malcolm.  The children are old enough to watch themselves.  Unlike their father."  The woman moved smoothly, wrapping the weighted thread around one leather gauntlet and drawing a pair of short blades as she spoke.  She placed herself between the two mages and the Templar.  "Murdering hypocrite," she snapped as she faced the Templar.  He charged, and she seemed to fade into the shadows as he ran, somehow coming up behind him to bury her blades in his neck.  The Templar roared in pain, and tried to turn and face her.

Anders ignored the fight and leaned over the mage, who was coughing up blood.

"You're a Spirit Healer?" he said in shock, as he felt the flow of soothing magic.

As soon as he felt the mage sit up, Anders turned to his own wounds.  "Yes, I am," he confessed.  "Is that your wife?"

"If you're going to bring someone with you to spend the rest of your life on the run, make sure she can keep up," grinned the mage.

"I've never seen anyone fight like that before."  Anders watched as she fought the Templar.  She seemed to be half-shadow when she fought, and the Templar had no more chance of matching her speed than he did of finding the Golden City.

"She was a Marcher scout.  One of the Sweet Sixteen, the elite of Kirkwall, to be precise.  Her mother never forgave me for eloping with her."  Anders felt a twinge of jealousy at the pride and love in his voice.

The Templar dropped to the cobblestones with a loud crash.  The woman plucked something from around his neck before she sheathed her blades and ran over to her husband.  "Malcolm!  Oh, Malcolm, darling, are you all right?  Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine, love.  We must thank our young friend here for that."

"Don't thank me," said Anders quickly.  "If it hadn't been for me, that hunter wouldn't have found you."

"You're wrong," smiled the woman as she helped her husband to his feet.  "They had his phylactery.  If you hadn't been here, he would be dead."  She smiled gently at him.  "So, thank you for saving my husband's life.  But come, we need to get out of here.  You'll come with us, of course.  It isn't safe for you in Highever anymore."

Anders followed them without answering, as if the solution was too obvious to need words.

They paused before entering the dockside quarter.  "Stay here," she ordered, "I'm going to look around first."  Her husband nodded, and Anders watched her slip into the shadows.

"Here," said Anders quietly, and pressed a bag of coins into the man's hand.  "I don't need it."

"What?  Don't be foolish, apostates always need money."  He tried to give it back, but Anders refused.

"I have more than enough," he smiled.  "I've earned quite a lot in the last few years, and I've never spent any of it.  I'd like to think of your family living somewhere safe with it, instead of letting it go to waste."

The woman came back.  "All clear!  Let's get to the ship."  She took her husband by the hand, and started towards the dock.

"Wait!  What are you doing?"  The mage paused, as he realized that Anders wasn't following.

"They will kill you if they take you, there's no doubt," said Anders calmly, a little too calmly.  He was terrified of what he was about to do, but he knew it was right.  "But they might not kill me."  He turned away, trying not to hear what they had to say.  "They're coming."

The sound of the harsh, familiar clank of metal galvanized the woman, just as the heavy, regular steps froze the two mages in their tracks.

"No!"  The mage struggled as his wife dragged him to the ship.  "Come with us!"

There were three other ships here besides the one that the mage was boarding.  Anders sent a bolt of fire at the rigging of the one closest to the Templars.  The dry canvas lit up with flame in an instant, and burning flakes from the sails started to float through the wind to the next ship.

"Cast off!  Now!" shouted the ship's captain in panic.  The mage and his wife barely made it to the deck.  Tongues of fire licked the mast of another ship, and Anders knew that the Templars wouldn't be able to follow the mage and his family.

Anders sank to his knees as the third ship caught fire, and the flames spread to the crates stacked on the dock.  The Templars stopped, unwilling to charge into the devastation, but their leader fearlessly stormed through the rising flames to where Anders was kneeling.

"You must be mad to think we would spare you after this," Greagoir raged.  He grabbed the kneeling form and dragged him to his feet.  "Do you have any idea - Anders!"  The Knight-Commander was visibly shocked.  "You?  Here?"

"We have to get out of here, Commander!" shouted one of the Templars.  The warehouses had caught fire now, and the only way to stop the blaze from devouring all of Highever would be to destroy the street where they were standing.

Greagoir looked angrily at the ship swiftly sailing away, then back at the mage in his hands.  "You little fool," said Greagoir bitterly.  "You have no idea what you've done, do you?"


	5. We will destroy this world of violence

His hands were tied behind his back, just in case.  Everything he had been wearing had been taken away, and they had given him a pair of plain prisoner's robes to wear.  They were too small, and he had wrapped them around his waist instead, before asking for something decent to wear.  Instead, they had dragged him before the Grand Tribunal just as he was.  Half-naked, barefoot, unshaven, his hair pulled back into a hasty ponytail, still stained with soot and sweat.

Bound and broken.  In theory, at least.

They forced him to his knees, and he could practically feel the angry stares of the gathered mages and priests, the watchful gaze of the Templars.  He had almost forgotten how it felt to know he was being constantly watched.

The Mother Superior's voice was cold and angry.  "You are the apostate mage known as 'Anders,' formerly of Kinloch Hold."

Anders looked up in surprise.  It had been a long time since anyone had used or even mentioned his real name, and even longer since he had heard the tower's real name.

"You have repeatedly broken the laws concerning the control of mages in your own person, by leaving Kinloch Hold without permission or supervision, despite numerous attempts at correction and rehabilitation.  You publicly killed a Templar Knight-Captain in Denerim, as well as the Templars under her command.  You have aided numerous apostates, including suspected blood mages, to escape the lawful control of the Chantry in violation of the laws of the Chantry and of Ferelden.  You have provided assistance to numerous apostates, including suspected blood mages, in resisting the lawful control of the Chantry.  You were a direct accomplice in the slaying of a Templar Knight-Chasseur and the Templars under his command, thus allowing a suspected blood mage to escape with his phylactery.  You were also directly responsible for the conflagration that almost destroyed Highever."

Anders dropped his eyes, and tried not to smile at that last charge.  He hadn't realized just how much damage a little fire could do.  He was under no illusions about what was going to happen to him.  His only hope was that they wouldn't make him Tranquil right away, so that he would have time to kill himself first.

"You have defied the will of the Chantry," hissed the Mother Superior.  "This will no longer be permitted.  You will be placed in complete confinement for the next year.  At the end of that time, the Tribunal will review your status and make a final decision as to whether you should be returned to the control of the Circle, made Tranquil, or remanded to Aeonar.  Against my recommendation," she said sharply, "you will be confined here in Kinloch Hold."  The Mother Superior stood, and glared at the silent, kneeling mage in the center of the room.  "This is your last chance to show that you accept your place as mage, to show that you can serve the Maker as He wishes, that you are more than a bloodthirsty murderer and a licentious seducer."

Anders looked up at that, unable to stop himself, or to hide the anger in his eyes.  He hadn't had a chance to burn all of Roderic's letters, and the Tribunal had read them, refusing to hear any explanation he made.

"Do not dare to speak to me," snarled the Mother Superior.  "I will not allow you to defame the memory of one of our finest Templars.  Take him out of my sight.  Now!"

He dropped his eyes again, knowing how useless it was, and let the Templars drag him out of the hall.

Solitary confinement.  The confinement cells were at the top of the tower, where the Veil was practically thin enough to touch.  The first slip would let a demon in.  And of course, with that justification as proof, the Templars would kill you, declare you a blood mage, and claim that they had saved all of Thedas from your inevitable murderous rampage.

The whole point of complete confinement was to drive the prisoner mad.  The only way to avoid possession was not to use magic at all.  There was nothing you could do to stop yourself from going insane.

As it happened, Anders knew all of this.  He knew that he would never be able to resist the soul-destroying loneliness for an entire year.  No one could.  He would deal with it as best he could, for as long as he could, and hope that they moved him before the full year was over.  Planning ahead for going insane seemed so very wrong, but he knew he had no other choice.  The Templars removed the chains on his wrists before they shoved him into the cell, and the door slammed shut behind him.

The cell was fairly large.  There was a bed, bolted to the floor.  A desk and a chair, both also bolted in place.  A window too high to reach.  Paper to make requests for books to read.  An open chamber for relieving yourself or taking a bath.  A small cabinet to hold the scanty wardrobe they gave the prisoners.  And, of course, there was the door.  The door to the cell was a heavy wooden one that only opened if the outer door, the huge metal one, was closed; so that food and other deliveries could be placed in the entrance chamber without ever having the Templars come in contact with the prisoner.  From the outside, the Templars could watch him whenever they wanted to.  But Anders would have no one to see or speak to for at least a year, unless Irving and Greagoir lost the battle to save him, and the Mother Superior simply moved him to Aeonar.

Anders wondered why they were fighting so hard to keep him alive.  The Mother Superior had even called their loyalty into question when they had defended him.  The only thing in his favor was that they had no proof at all that he was a blood mage.  He was just a spoiled brat who refused to play by their rules.  Or perhaps, a grown man who couldn't blind himself to the fact that he was little more than a caged slave who did fancy tricks on command and had no right to privacy, even in his own thoughts.  But to think that was to defy the Chantry – the ultimate crime that a mage could commit.

"Dance, little puppet, dance," Anders muttered as he looked around the room.  For a moment, he could see the look on Lucius' face when the Templars had marched him back to King's Wait.  The Angel was dead – there was only a hated mage in his place.  He shook off the memory and walked over to the wall with the window.  He reached up, to see if he could pull himself up to the window.  He could barely reach it with his fingertips.  He decided to make it a goal.  He would work on it every day, until he could pull himself up and see the sky again.

Anders pulled the mattresses and pillows from the bed, and set them up in the corner where he would get the most light.  Luckily, there were no vermin in the tower.  One of the beneficial side effects of magic, he supposed.  He examined the bed frame, and pulled away the supporting slats.  He decided it would meet his needs, and started pulling up the nails in the frame.  He was going to turn the bed frame into a crude loom, and weave a blanket from the blankets they had given him.  It would take a long time, and the process would be very involved.  He started working out all the ways he could improvise tools to use.

The teyrn had confiscated all the money he had left in his room, and used it to repair the damage done to Highever.  The Knight-Commander had been openly shocked by the amount, and had demanded to know if Anders had been influencing people in Highever with blood magic.  The teyrn's amused laughter had saved his life, and Anders decided not to let them know how much he had really earned.  He didn't mind losing all the money – it would have done him no good here, anyway.  He was glad that he had given in to the generous impulse to give his purse to the mage, and he hoped that the mage's family would make good use if it.  He smiled as he tried to imagine the look on their faces when they found out the bag was mostly precious gems worth a king's ransom.

Anders wished that he had been able to burn all of Roderic's letters before his capture.  It was a harsh lesson, but he knew better now.  He would never again keep anything that he didn't want read aloud in a Tribunal.  He sat down at the desk, and read the rules again.  There was a pen and ink, and a sheaf of paper.  Prisoners could ask for anything they wanted, and the Templar guards would decide whether or not to approve the request.  He tapped the pen against his teeth, trying to decide what books to ask for first.  He wrote out a list.  Some romances, some history books, a collection of children's stories.  He smiled to himself, and made another copy of his list, and put it in the desk drawer.  He slid the first copy of his list through the little slot in the door, and went to take a bath.

He steeled himself to ignore the fact that the Templars were probably watching his every move.  The water was cold.  He wasn't allowed a fire for the next two months unless the snows came early.  Anders looked for a razor, then realized that, of course there wouldn't be one.  Even the pen was too dull to break skin.  He sighed, and decided to accept that he would be growing a beard.  He pulled on one of the robes from the wardrobe.  It was a plain dark blue, with no patterns or symbols, made of the cheapest fabric.

Anders fingered the cloth, and wondered if he could make anything interesting out of the robes.  He pulled out another robe, and had just knelt down on the floor to examine the robe more closely when there was a loud noise.  He jumped in surprise before he realized that someone had closed the outer door.  Anders went to the door to see what the Templars had brought him.  It was a book, in response to his list.  One book.

The Chant of Light.

Anders tried not to smile at the petty insult.  The full text of the Chant was a large book, well-bound with heavy, solid covers.  Just what he needed in this dark time.

Anders ripped off the covers, careful not to damage the covers or the thread holding the pages together, and began painstakingly taking apart the book.  With a little work, he could make a shuttle and some bobbins out of this otherwise useless book, and the paper would be useful, too.  "Next time," he muttered under his breath, "give me what I ask for."

 

"What are two you doing?" demanded the Knight-Commander.

The two Templars on duty stood sharply at attention and saluted.  "Commander."  They looked at each other nervously, then gave up and broke into open laughter.  "It's like a game, sir.  He asks for something he knows he isn't going to get, but no matter what we send him, he manages to make something that he wants out of it."

"Every single time," laughed the other Templar.  "So we're trying to just make the most ridiculous set of items that we can, to see if we can stump him."

Greagoir shook his head, and looked into the cell.  There were curtains made from old robes over the window, hung there with hooks made from the hinges of a codex of the laws of Ferelden.  A patchwork quilt made of scraps of cloth covered the mattresses on the floor, and a stuffed toy cat made from old pillows sat on the bed.  The bed was now a makeshift loom, with half a blanket on the warp waiting for Anders to finish it.

Anders was busily winding yarn that he had reclaimed from his old blankets and clothes into skeins, using the desk and the chair to hold the yarn as he worked.  Greagoir sighed as he listened to Anders cheerfully singing canticles from the Chant of Light to the tune of tavern songs.  He knocked sharply on the door, and Anders looked up in surprise at the unexpected summons.

For someone who had been denied all contact for eight months, he looked remarkably well.  Greagoir had seen other prisoners who had simply lost the will to live, but were still determined not to give in the demons.  They just seemed to be watching everything through a fog.  They didn't respond to outside stimuli for a long time, if at all.  The ones who gave in to the demons were easy to spot.  Nothing made sense to them anymore.  They tried to pretend they were still normal, but the demons were too eager to get out, to experience life in their new form.  Loud, sharp noises irritated them beyond all bearing.

Anders didn't look like either of those.  He looked like he still had hope.  Greagoir stared at the ground as Anders tentatively approached the door.

"You're being moved to Aeonar tomorrow.  You will bring nothing with you."

Anders didn't answer.  He had waited for eight months to hear another living voice.  Those were not the words he wanted to hear.  But it was a voice nevertheless.  He turned away, and leaned against the door.  He replayed the Knight-Commander's words in his head.  It was odd, but he thought he had heard a note of regret in his voice.  Something like sympathy.

Anders went over to the window, and pulled himself up by the bars to check the weather.  It looked like it might rain tomorrow.  One day.  Less than that, actually.  Anders crawled into his bed, and snuggled his toy kitten to his chest to think and plan.  He knew he wouldn't be able to survive Aeonar.  There wouldn't be any guards he could play with there.  Prisoners in the Aeonar didn't get amenities.  He wouldn't be in solitary confinement there, he would be locked up with blood mages.  His soul recoiled from the idea, and he hugged his toy closer.  He couldn't go to Aeonar.

Anders closed his eyes, and tried to think.  For all of his reading, all he knew was that the Aeonar fortress was somewhere in the north, on the Imperial Highway.  Only the Templars knew the exact location of Aeonar.  He could hear the Knight-Commander's words in his head, over and over.  Tomorrow.  What had changed?  Why was he being sent away?

Anders forced himself to sit up, and walked across the room.  The physical movement gave him some relief from the crushing terror, so he did it again, until he had to stop because he realized he was doing nothing but pacing uselessly back and forth.  No, he told himself.  He had lasted this long.  He would be outside, if only for a little while.  They would be traveling.  There would be a chance somewhere on the road, he just had to be ready to take it.  There would be no hope, no chance, if he broke now.  He looked around the room, at all the little things he had created to keep the madness at bay.  He sat down at the desk and started writing out a will, detailing who should get all the things he was leaving behind once he was taken from the tower.  He left the toy cat to the Templar guards, a thought that made him laugh.  The laughter did more for him than anything else had, and he settled down to writing while he considered every possible chance he might have to escape being confined in Aeonar.

"But I want the cat," whispered one of the Templars so quietly Anders barely heard it.  He forced himself not to smile as they escorted him down the stairs to the stables.  The Templars had woken him up early, and brought him new robes to wear for the journey.  Four Templars to guard him while he changed in front of them.  He wanted to resent them, but he was too thrilled to have people talking around him.  He had intended to tease them, but discovered that he was too nervous to speak.  He had silently handed over his 'will,' and let them read it while he dressed himself and washed up.

Their quiet argument was the result of one of the senior Templars insisting that it was all nonsense, and that all of the things Anders had made were to be discarded.  At the stables, the tower Templars handed him over to the Templars from Aeonar.  These new Templars put manacles and chains on him, and roughly thrust him into a covered wagon.  For some reason, Anders had assumed that he would be the only prisoner in transit, but there were four others, all chained just as he was.

Anders looked down at the manacles, and wondered why the Templars hadn't said anything.  He quietly sat in his seat, breathing in the wetness of the air.  It was raining.  There was no discussion between the two groups of Templars.  Some papers were signed, then the wagon pulled out of the stables and left the tower.  Anders tried to lean out and take a last look at the tower, but the mage he was sitting next to hissed furiously.

"Don't touch me."

"I'm sorry," said Anders quickly.  He hadn't meant to touch the other man, and now he wished he hadn't.  He could sense the darkness in him, the taint of blood magic.  He scooted away, as far as he could.

"You don't have to go that far," said the other mage dryly.  "It's just – I've been locked up for a while.  I'm not used to other people yet."  He stared at the ground.

Anders sat still, trying to think of what to do now.  He hadn't considered what to do if there were others that wanted to escape.  Could he take the risk of unleashing a blood mage just to save himself?  He thought of the damage that Kerry had done, and shrank back against the bench.

"Wasn't there supposed to be another one?" asked one of the other prisoners, a young elven male.  Anders could see the telltale white scars on the young man's hand, but he looked otherwise sane and in control.

"I think the Templars said the other one cracked a month or two ago.  Let a demon in," answered the blood mage next to Anders.

Anders had heard the screaming from his room.  He had crawled under his blankets and hidden there for days, until the screaming stopped abruptly.

 The elf looked curiously at Anders.  "You're not a blood mage."

Anders shook his head.

"So why are you being sent to Aeonar?"

Anders opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again when he realized he didn't know how to say what he wanted.

"Take your time," smiled the elf.  "We have a ways to go."

Anders smiled gratefully, and tried to remember how you were supposed to have a conversation.  He looked at the other two mages, both women.  One was young, with a cruel face and the telltale scars of a blood mage.  The other was more mature, shapely, and had a kind but tired face.

"You're not a blood mage?" he asked.

She shook her head.  "I was raised outside the circle, and refused to go to the tower."  She shrugged.  "And they finally caught me."

"Oh."  Anders looked outside again.  "I have this knack for escaping," he said suddenly.  "I suppose they were too afraid that I might somehow manage to escape from confinement.  So they're sending me to Aeonar.  Also, the Mother Superior hates me, for some reason.  Thinks I encourage other mages to try breaking out of the tower, I suppose."  He suddenly realized he was babbling, and stopped talking.

The other mages chuckled and laughed.  "Don't be ashamed," said the elf kindly.  "We all did the same thing."

Anders nodded slowly.  But he wasn't the same as them.  Was he?  He hadn't taken the wicked shortcut to power.  But they were all mages.  Did they deserve freedom?  Did he?

The rain stopped, and the wagon pulled to the side of the road.

"Call of nature time," sighed the elf.  "Don't skip it, it's your only chance for hours."

The Templars guided their prisoners out of the wagon, and escorted them one by one to some bushes by a small stream.  The Templars didn't talk to each other, or their prisoners.  Anders still wasn't sure what he wanted to do, or what he should do.  The older woman stumbled slightly.  Anders reached out to help her, forgetting for a moment that he was in chains, and almost fell over himself.

"Don't do that again," snarled one of the Templars.

Anders straightened himself, and stared at the Templars in shock.  "You can't do this.  You can't bring her to Aeonar!  Not in her condition!"

The woman flushed red, and the Templar nearest to Anders silenced him with a harsh blow across the face.

"No talking."  The Templar forced him back into the wagon.  "And just for that, you'll stay here until the next break."

"But – "  Anders stared helplessly at the inside of the wagon, seeing not the wood and canvas, but the tiny spark of life.  "That isn't right.  You can't.  You can't do this."

"Just drop it," said the human man.  "You can't do anything about it anyway.  Don't get all worked up over it."

But he could do something about it.  But at what price?  Anders looked at the other mages as the Templars sent them back into the wagon.  The woman didn't meet his eyes, and didn't say anything.

The wagon started moving again, and Anders made up his mind.  Not for her, not for the other mages.  For the innocent life she was carrying, the untapped potential.  For the child's father.  For all the families that had been ripped apart by the laws of the Chantry and the cruelty of the Templars.

Anders raised his hands, and pushed back his robes.  Wynne had often commented that Spirit Healers were all delicately built and fine-boned.  The Templars from the tower knew this, and always made sure to use smaller manacles on him.  The Templars from Aeonar had not, and in fact, had placed the manacles over the sleeves of his robes.  The other mages watched, stunned.  The elf recovered first, and started talking to cover the noise and keep the Templars from being interested.  The others followed, trying to have a natural conversation, all the while watching him, unable to believe.  It was the work of a few minutes to get his hands out of the clumsy manacles.

As soon as his hands were free, Anders turned to the mage next to him and took a closer look at the manacles they had used.  There was a screw that opened them, if the key wasn't available.  He used his manacles as a tool to get them off.  The mage watched him eagerly, and as soon as his hands were free, did the same for the woman while Anders set the elf free.

The wagon stopped suddenly.  "What's going on in there?" said one of the Templars suspiciously.

Anders ignored it, and started working to set the girl free.  The elf and the human man stretched out their hands, and smiled at each other.

"Do you mind if we take care of this?" asked the elf politely.

"Not like you could stop us," grinned the man.

Anders turned away as they picked up the manacles on the floor, and used the sharp edges to get what they needed.  The Templar who opened the wagon door barely had time to shout a warning before he staggered back, spewing black, corrupted blood.  The girl jumped up to join them, throwing waves of terror, freezing the Templars before they could get their shields up.

Anders looked at the woman, who shrank back into the wagon.  "I wish there had been another way," said Anders sadly.

She shook her head.  "It's not that," she said harshly.  "I want them dead.  I want them to suffer.  I just don't want to see it."  She looked down.  "I'm going back home.  I don't care if they track me down again.  I just want to see my husband again."

If the Templars had been prepared, the three blood mages would have been no match for them.  In only a few, painfully short minutes, the elf stuck his head back into the wagon.  "You two can stop hiding now," he grinned.  "It's safe."

Anders helped the woman out of the wagon.

"You're a Spirit Healer," said the girl.  "Right?  That’s how you knew she was knocked up."

Anders nodded.  "Please don't take this the wrong way," he said slowly, "but I don't want to travel with you three."

"None taken," said the girl cheerfully.  "You'd just slow me down anyway.  So, Case, you want to follow your dreams with me?"

The elf smiled.  "Why not?"  He looked at Anders.  "Thank you, for what it's worth.  I know you didn't want to do it.  But, thanks."  The elf smiled at the girl and took her hand.  "Let's go see what it's like."  Laughing like children, the two ran away without looking back once.

For a moment, Anders envied them.  He didn't want to know where they were going, and he didn't ask.  The human man was searching the bodies.

"Well, damn," he swore.  "They're not here."

"What isn't?"  Anders swallowed nervously.  "Our phylacteries.  They're not here, are they?"

The human man shook his head.  "No.  Damn them.  Untrusting Templars."  He sighed.  "Ah, well, at least I'm free again.  That's something.  Here."  He tossed a bag of coins to Anders and the woman.  "Split it.  Run as far as you can, as fast as you can.  Good luck to you."  He mounted one of the horses, handling it expertly, and turned the horse's head to the south before galloping off.

Anders and the woman looked at each other.  "My name is Anders, by the way," he said lamely.  "We should probably get to shelter somewhere."  He looked up at the sky.  "It's going to start raining again soon."

 

"Look, Mother," said the little girl eagerly, "that man has a staff!  Does that mean he's a mage?"

"Don't look," said the woman firmly, and tried to pull her daughter away.

"I thought all mages were supposed to stay in the tower," the child persisted.

"Well, some people are wicked, and don't obey the laws of the Chantry," the woman explained.

"He doesn't look wicked," said the little girl doubtfully, and Anders smiled at her.  The little girl smiled back.  "I think he's nice!"

"Roberta!"

Anders couldn't help but laugh at the shock in her voice, and the little girl laughed with him.  "It's not my fault she doesn't believe your foolish story," he protested as the woman glared at him.  Anders walked away laughing, humming a random song as he walked.

There was an odd rumbling noise, then shouts of horror and frantic commands to close the gates.  Anders looked around in confusion, trying to figure out what the guards were shouting.

"Darkspawn?  Here?  That's impossible," he muttered to himself, and tried to get closer to the gates to see what was happening.  How could the darkspawn have reached Denerim?  He took two steps before he felt it, the very earth beneath his feet crackling with darkness and corruption.  Anders jumped back just as the ground ripped open and a twisted monstrosity, curiously elongated and with oddly angular features, jumped out of the ground with a bone-chilling scream.  Before it could move, Anders had his staff out.  He froze the beast in place, leaving it for a city guard to behead with a swift blow from his sword.

"Guard the mage," shouted the guard, and Anders smiled to himself to think that now he had a purpose, whereas only minutes ago he had been nothing more than an apostate that the guards studiously ignored.  He didn't let that stop him from blasting the incoming waves of darkspawn with fire and ice, or stunning them with waves of mana.  More city guards joined the circle protecting him, as well as some random nobles and mercenaries.  There was a gross roar, and the ground shook beneath their feet.  "Ogres!  We have to fall back," shouted one of the mercenaries.  Anders fired off a blizzard to cover their retreat, and a pair of ogres literally ripped the city gates away before running right into the blizzard, where they froze in place.

Some guards stopped to fire at the frozen ogres, but someone took Anders by the arm and dragged him farther into the city before he could do anything else.  "Are you mad?" shouted the man holding him, as they ran.  "You have to get out of here!"

"I'm trying to help," Anders protested, but he couldn't get his arm free of the man's iron grip.  They were at the docks now, and Anders tried again to break free.  "I'm not leaving!"

"You've done enough," snarled the man.  He was wearing the armor of some noble house, but Anders didn't recognize the insignia.  All the ships in dock were crowded with fleeing refugees.  "Get on that boat!  Now!"

"Who do you think you are?" Anders demanded, and the man pulled off his helm without letting go of Anders' arm.  "Lucius!"  Anders stared at him in confusion.

"Go," Lucius commanded harshly.  "I won't watch you die here.  Go!"

Anders shook his head.  "No, I can't just leave –"

Lucius picked him up, ignoring his protests, and carried him kicking and screaming in protest up the gangplank of the nearest ship.  He dumped Anders on the deck, and when Anders tried to stand up, knocked him down with one harsh blow, leaving him stunned and shaken.  Dimly, Anders could feel lips pressed fiercely against his, and heard Lucius whisper softly: "Forgive me, Angel.  I should have just taken you away years ago."

Anders heard the creak of ropes, and felt the boat moving.  He struggled to sit up, and saw that they had pulled away from the destruction of Denerim.  He pulled himself to the railing so he could see Lucius and other warriors directing the other refugees and fighting off random darkspawn.  He touched his face, feeling the bruise where Lucius had struck him, and heard the soft jingle of coins.  Confused, he looked in the bag he was still holding from the market.  In addition to his carefully selected vegetables, there was also a heavy purse of coins.  Anders sank to his knees.  "This isn't how it's supposed to end," he whispered miserably, and hid his face in his hands.  "What kind of story is this?"


End file.
